


Nothing but ashes

by Little_Corners



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 42,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Corners/pseuds/Little_Corners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn, Jaime, Elia and Brandon in the run up to Roberts Rebellion, set in the criminal underworld of Miami.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cat.

Cat woke in a hot sweat, her bed sheets tangled around her limbs in a damp mess and the dull thrum of the ceiling fan above her. She swept her hair out of her eyes and reached lazily across to the window, parting the blinds and squinting in to the daylight. The sky was clear and still, and she could almost see the heat hanging heavy in the air. The skyline of South Beach rippled in the late morning sun. Sitting, she unwrapped herself from the bed and stretched her long legs out before her, flexing her toes in turn. Despite living in Miami all her life, Cat had never been able to catch a tan. Her skin remained pale and soft, and would burn a horrible red if she ever dared expose it to the elements unprotected. Her whole family were the same; clear skin, long limbs and dark auburn hair were the hallmarks of her family, along with a propensity to sunburn. She had never resented it though, even as she was forced to cover herself in factor 50 every day. Her looks marked her as a Tully. Her fathers' daughter.

Hoster Tully was sat at the kitchen counter, a small cup of black coffee in his hand and the morning papers spread out before him. He kissed his daughter lightly on the cheek as she stopped beside him.

'I need you down at the club later sweetie' he said, returning to read the paper. 'Edmure is covering the restaurant tonight.'

Cat sighed, quietly she hoped, and busied herself looking for the milk. She wanted to know where Lysa was, and why she couldn't be at the club today. Her bed hadn't been slept in. Their father must have noticed. Why wasn't he asking about Lysa? All these questions died on her tongue of course, and she emerged from the fridge, milk in hand and an accepting smile on her face.

'Petyr is there today' her father was saying, absently. 'He can cover until about 9, but then I want him back with me at the office. You'll need to do close down.'

Cat sat opposite him with her bowl of cereal and nodded silently. The club was near the seafront, in amongst the rest of the neon lit parade along Washington Avenue. Cat had worked there in some form or other since she was 14, and enjoyed it for the most part. The drinks were expensive and door men strict, meaning the clientele were a more refined breed. They were less likely to grab her ass or make lewd comments. Not that Cat had ever had to suffer that problem. People knew better than to harass Hoster Tully's little girl. Nevertheless, the club didn't close until 4am. It would be a long night.

She sighed again, apparently a little louder this time, causing her father to look up. He had a strange, tight look about him.

'Cat, you're 18 now. In a few years, I'll be signing that club over to you. I shouldn't be telling you to go down there. You should be there all the time, getting to know it.'

Cat met his pale gaze with her own large, blue eyes and set the smile back on her face.

'I know dad. And I've been there nearly every day recently. I was just hoping to have a night off maybe…. Lysa said she'd be around to cover me if I needed….' She hadn't meant to mention her sister, and she tried to compensate by making her expression the sweetest she could muster. Hoster did not seem moved.

'Lysa can't be relied upon; you should know that by now. Besides, she has no interest in running a business.'

Cat looked back down to her cereal and prodded it sullenly with the edge of her spoon. Their father had used to speak proudly of the day his children would take over his businesses – all of his children. The club and the restaurant, the gym over on Lenox. All of it, divided amongst the Tully children to continue his great legacy. And then as they got older, Lysa became less and less of a feature in his plans. Neither of them seemed to care, or even acknowledge the rift between them. It made Cat sad to think of the closeness they had once all had. And it made her angry to think that Lysa had managed to shirk her responsibilities simply by creeping out to party every night. She couldn't shake the feeling that if she tried the same trick, their father would be much less inclined to let her slip his grasp.

'Little Cat.' His voice interrupted her train of thought and she looked back up to find his expression much less stern.

'I just want you to be prepared' he said kindly. 'There won't be any nights off once it's all yours.'

Cat reached out to his hand, giving it a little squeeze.

'You can't rely on other people' he said, nodding sagely. 'Not if you want to make something of yourself.'

Cat chuckled, and felt her resentment leaving her as quickly as it had appeared.

'Well except me' laughed Hoster, returning to his paper. 'I'm family.'

 

The club office was on the top floor of the building, a surprisingly small room made even smaller by the large desk in the center. Petyr was sat at it when Cat came in, tapping slowly at the computers' keyboard. When he saw her, he jumped to his feet so quickly a stack of papers fell to the floor. She laughed gently and bent to help him pick them up.

'I didn't think I'd see you until 9' he said as they collected the fallen invoices and returned them to their nesting place. Petyr had a disconcerting habit of holding Cat's eye for slightly longer than was comfortable with. He was doing it now, his grey flecked eyes holding steady on hers, even after she looked away. Cat was suddenly rather conscious of her choice of outfit - dark jeans that hugged her hips and a thin red vest. Nothing overly revealing but under his gaze, she felt rather bare. She should have been used to it, and yet it seemed that she was never fully prepared. She smiled, trying to brush the uneasiness aside.

'I know' she said brightly. 'But I was sat at the apartment doing nothing. Might as well come and make myself useful here.'

The office was warm and damp, despite the air conditioning, but Petyr managed to look cool and unwrinkled in a suit and tie. The jacket was hung on the back of the chair, and the top button of his shirt was open but otherwise, he looked as if he had only just gotten dressed – not been at work for last 9 hours. The suit was his customary dark grey, expensive and lined with dark green silk. His tie was a matching green, with a slim silver tie pin clipped half way down. A little bird perched on the edge, wrought in fine detail with a tiny emerald chip for its eye.

'My dad wants you over at the office tonight, did he tell you?' Cat continued. She perched at the edge of the desk, just out of arms reach. Petyr was still looking at her, even as he continued to tidy up the invoices.

'I know. I'll go over in a little while' he said, finally breaking his gaze for a moment to look back at the computer. 'I thought Lysa was….' He trailed off and raised an eyebrow, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.

Cat shrugged and turned away to look out of the little window. South Beach was ablaze with light and noise, heat and movement. People danced along the road with songs on their lips and tanned skin glistening under neon. For a moment, she wished she were down there with them.

'Yeah, I thought so too. But here we are.'

Either she was more lost in her own thoughts than she realised, or else Petyr moved without making the slightest sound. Either way, when she turned back around, he was stood a lot closer to her. She flinched back, her hand slipping on the polished desk. She swore he seemed to be laughing at her, although no sound escaped him and his face remained a mask. It was all in his eyes.

She righted herself, shifting her weight back to find a more stable position, quickly turning back to the window.

'Lysa didn't come home last night. Was she with you?'

She immediately regretted being so blunt, but he was beginning to annoy her. She kept her eyes out of the window, but could hear his soft chuckle beside her.

'No. I think our little Lysa has found herself another to keep her warm at night. Alas, I feel I have been kicked to the curb.'

His tone was mocking, she could tell, and it grated on her. Plus he was lying. Lysa had her habits, but bed hopping was not one. When they had been younger, and there had been no secrets between them, it was always Cat who brought the stories about kisses in alleyways and holding hands under tables. Even back then, Lysa only had eyes for Petyr. Whatever she was doing these days, she was not doing it with another man. Her annoyance bloomed in to hot anger.

'You don't need to stay Petyr. I'm here now, you can go.' She slipped from the table and walked to the chair, taking a seat and trying to look busy. She could feel him still there, at the edge of the desk. He didn't seem to be moving.

'I'll be fine' she heard herself say, somewhat redundantly. She'd been running these books for years now. She knew them better than he did.

'Cat…' he said, suddenly soft.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him move from the table towards her. She tensed, pursing her lips and concentrating on the job she was pretending to do. He was next to her in moments, and his hand reached forward. She braced herself, not sure whether to ignore it or hit him. And then, suddenly, she realised he was picking up his jacket from the back of the chair. In another moment, he was standing at the door. She allowed herself to look up then, and found him watching her still with those bright grey eyes, laughing again. She gave him a terse smile but said nothing. She could hear him chuckling as he walked away down the corridor.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime.

Jaime was aware that he was late, and did not make any effort to try and rectify it. He was enjoying the drive. The top of his car was down and a rush of hot, evening air was blowing through his hair and across his face. There was a sweet smell in the air, all sugar and fried food, coconut and alcohol. He smiled slowly as he passed a group of young women swaying down the sidewalk, exposed skin at their navels and legs, wicked grins on their faces. The bright lights of Downtown Miami were inviting him in, throwing sharp dark shadows along the faces of the old buildings, making them dance. He wove his way along the streets, deeper and deeper in to the heart of the city, turning his stereo up and enjoying the rhythmic thud of the music.

He slung his car keys to the valet without a word, and meandered slowly up the brightly lit steps of the hotel. The cold air hit him like a slap, a sudden contrast to the heat of the outside. The reception was a sparkling expanse of clean, polished marble; all in white and grey with slashes of red in the minimalist art and the roses on the desk. Three ornate beasts held up the main reception desk, a trio of Chinese dragons with lips curled and teeth exposed. He nodded a greeting to the man at the desk and continued towards the elevator at the far end, his foot falls echoing on the stone floor. As he waited, a slender figure approached him from the shadows to his right and slipped a cool, soft arm around his.

'You smell good' he said quietly, giving her hand a subtle squeeze.

'You're late' she answered icily.

'So are you, it seems.'

The doors opened and he stood aside to allow her to enter, finally allowing himself to look at her. She was wearing a red silk dress that left her back exposed, her long golden hair loose around her shoulders and delicate gold jewellery at her wrists. He followed her in and waited until the doors had closed before running his hand slowly down the bare skin and watching her face for signs of a reaction. She remained stoic though, her green eyes looking ever forward, no hint of a smile on her lips. He made a low growl in his throat, enjoying the game, and suddenly pulled her to him. With their faces only inches apart, he let his hands run up her back until they were thick in her hair, holding her head so that she couldn't move away. At last, a slight expression seemed to flicker across her face but he couldn't tell if it was pleasure or annoyance. The two were so often connected. He kissed her hard, enjoying the familiar taste of her, and felt a jolt of excitement as her mouth open against his and their tongues met. _So it was pleasure then._

But just as suddenly, she pulled away and untangled herself from his hands, a wry smile on her face.

'Not here' she said quietly, just as the elevator doors opened. Jaime followed a step or two behind, enjoying the sight of her walking in front of him.

The doors had opened on to a grand restaurant, a large room with high ceilings and small clusters of tables nestled about under dim candle light. The floor was marble, the colour of burgundy and flecked with diamond, and the walls were pale grey and smooth. Three huge chandeliers hung along the length of the room, heavy with crystals and glinting softly. There was a pianist playing somewhere and the air smelt like orchids.

The maître de glanced as they passed but made to move to stop them, even though Jaime was dressed in jeans and a shirt. Not that he was dressed poorly by any standard – everything he owned had a designer label. But in amongst the suits, floor length dresses and diamonds on every wrist and watch, he looked very out of place. He would say that he hadn't had time to change. That would not be the truth.

At the end of the room, a corner had been raised slightly and set back from the rest of the guests. There were no walls around this section; instead, floor to ceiling windows gave frame to the Miami city skyline. A single circular table was in the centre, draped in a scarlet tablecloth and dotted with little tealights in crystal holders shaped like flowers. Four figures sat sipping wine and speaking in lowered tones, while waiters hovered nervously around the edge of the table trying to anticipate when a glass might need refreshing. As Jaime and his sister approached he found himself suddenly being appraised by a collection of emerald, violet and chocolate brown eyes. The conversation appeared to have been put on hold while the twins took their seats. Jaime smiled broadly, and helped himself to a glass of wine.

Their father spoke first.

'I was beginning to think you weren't coming' Tywin said sourly. 'But of course, you wouldn't dare offend our gracious host. Would you?'

He smiled, or rather his version of a smile, which was as warm and comforting as a coiled viper.

Jaime sat back, glass in hand, and addressed the rest of the table.

'No offence intended, naturally. I was delayed.' He took a long swig from the glass, draining it.

'My apologies.'

Next to him, Cersei allowed herself a soft, girlish laugh.

'My brother is right, and we are indeed very sorry.'

She addressed the man opposite her, a tall blonde man with a neatly trimmed moustache and a thin, wiry frame under a coal black suit. Even on a circular table, it was clear he was at the head of it.

'Aerys, forgive us. I hope we haven't kept you.'

She smiled, and Jaime watched in wonder as the old man seemed to soften under her gaze. But then Cersei was stunning, and he had yet to see a man not respond positively to a smile from a stunning 19 year old. It was enough to make him take another drink. He could sense his father looking at him from his left, no doubt a disapproving look on his face.

'Well, yes. If we can get back to the business in hand, Tywin?'

Aerys sat back in his chair and motioned for a waiter who hurried forward.

'Get us the fish' he ordered. 'And another two bottles.' He motioned to wine. The waiter nodded silently and disappeared quickly.

'How was New York?' he said, with a tone that Jaime could not quite place. Tywin had clearly sensed it though and he visibly stiffened in his chair, his long fingers drumming on the table.

'Fine. Everything went as expected.'

Aerys eyed him suspiciously. 'Is your other son not joining us?'

'Tyrion is still just a boy' Tywin answered calmly. 'I prefer that he stay in New York for the time being.'

Aerys did not seem placated, but before he could continue Rhaegar jumped in.

'We have three Lannisters here tonight, I think that's enough. Cersei, can I get you a glass?'

There was an empty glass stood in front of her, and the wine bottle was well within her reach. Nevertheless, Cersei sat back and allowed Rhaegar to pour her a glass full of the red wine, smiling at him as he did it. Rhaegar was blonde like his father, with the same purple eyes and broad shoulders. But where Aerys was lean, his son was muscular and thick. He had rolled his shirt sleeves up, revealing the muscles in his forearms. When he was clean shaven and had his hair cut short, he could almost pass for a teenager – not a man of 27 years. It was his height that gave him away. Like his father and mother too, he had the Targaryen height.

Everyone at the table had spoken now except the woman to Rhaegar's right. She was avoiding everyone eye, and taking small sips from her glass. Jaime would have liked to have sat next to her, to flirt with her like Cersei was flirting with Rhaegar. Cersei might not have cared but their father would, and Aerys, and perhaps even Rhaegar if he could be bothered to pay any attention. Elia was a beautiful woman. Not so beautiful as his sister, granted, but with a certain grace that came with age and experience. She was almost a polar opposite to her husband. Small and petite, with dark olive skin that drank up the sun and thick wavy hair the colour of blackcurrants. She was wearing an orange dress, cut demurely, leaving her arms bare but nothing else. Gold glinted in her ears and at her wrist, as well as the single band she wore on her wedding finger. When the food came, she ate quietly, still not joining the conversation. Jaime wondered what had silenced her. Elia was usually much more outspoken.

Not that he could entirely blame her. The conversation was achingly boring. Aerys and Tywin spoke about shipments and planes, boats and the coastguard. There had been some trouble in Little Havana and Tywin promised to send someone to end it. They talked about money. They talked about the police that they had on their payroll, and the ones they still needed to get. No one seemed concerned that they might be overheard. This was Aerys' hotel, and they were surrounded by his employees, all of whom would rather eat their own tongue than repeat what they might hear. It would be a mercy in comparison to what Aerys did to traitors. These weekly dinners were always held here, the fortress at the heart of his empire. It was the only time he could be absolutely certain of privacy. In no other place would the old man allow such open talk about business matters. Jaime had learnt that to his cost when Aerys had given him a bloody mouth with the butt of his gun once, just because Jaime had dared to speak out of turn in public. He lost a tooth if he remembered correctly. And Tywin had watched with a mouth drawn in to a thin, tight line and had not said a word as his son spit up blood on the sidewalk.

At the base of his spine, Jaime could feel the reassuring solidity of his gun. Unconsciously, his hand drifted under his shirt to adjust the strap and feel it hanging there. It gave him a warm feeling to know that in an instant, it could be in his hand; an extension of himself. His fingers seemed to tingle at the prospect.

Jaime had killed people. Five in total, and more wounded. Other men killed with their fists, but Jaime considered that in poor taste. Any desperate idiot could clench their hand in a ball and flail widely. It took skill to be a good marksman. It took skill to take aim and pull a trigger, knowing with absolute certainty that it would result in another man's death. This industry he found himself in could be a messy one. It often required that people be removed, and often against their will. Tywin employed people for that kind of job – large, silent, solid men who invited no argument and left no traces. It was what Aerys had hired him for in the first place. Jaime had always felt that if had to have a job, he would like that job. Let Tyrion deal with these boring meetings and try to juggle Aerys' moods. Or even Cersei; she had the mind for that kind of work. He wanted to be on the streets, where the blood pumped and flowed. He wanted to be in the thick of it, the stench of life filling up his nostrils and a gun in his hand. Justice. That's what he would be.

After dinner, he drove Cersei back to the house up on the hillside and they had a rough, quick fuck up against the doorway before their father came home. A few hours later, half asleep and nearly in a dream, he found himself reaching an arm out in to the empty space next to him and expecting to find her laying there. He couldn't get back to sleep for an hour afterwards.


	3. Chapter 3

Elia.

A small navy blue box sat inconspicuously amongst the strewn jewellery and perfume bottles on the dressing table. Elia wrapped a towel around her wet hair and walked around her bedroom, slowly picking up each item of clothing in turn until she was dressed, all the while keeping one eye on the little blue box. Eventually, she sat at the dresser and began to comb the tangles from her hair before diligently drying it and tying it up in to a loose plait. With an expert hand, she applied eye shadow, liner and mascara and a creamy flash of lipstick, still with her eye on that little box. She pressed her lips together, gave her reflection one last appraisal, and then finally allowed herself to pick up the suspicious parcel. It did not weigh all that much, but she could tell it was expensive. The box was thick cardboard, stamped with a crest she recognised from her favourite jewellery store. When she took the lid off, she was greeted with a pillow of creamy yellow silk. Nestled within, a pair of sparkling earrings glinted back at her. Tear drop diamonds, as big as olives, sparkled with delicate rainbows. A smaller gem hung below each drop, cut brilliantly and pale yellow in colour, like the silk on which it lay. Elia thought perhaps it was citrine, but did not take them out to inspect further. She put the box back down, still open, and looked silently at the offending items.

There was a small knock on the door and she heard someone enter behind her, although she did not turn to look. Her gaze remained on the little box, even as she became aware of the figure standing beside her.

'Another gift? My son has excellent taste.'

Rhaella smelt like citrus and soap. She was dressed in a flowing summer dress, patterned with flowers in all the brightest hues that skimmed over her swelling belly. She always dressed brightly these days. When Elia had first met her future mother-in-law, she remembered a tall and slender woman, whose figure was accentuated under angular, sharply tailored business suits that never strayed far away from the black, navy and grey end of the spectrum. But back then, Rhaella was mother to only one and had a much firmer grip on her husband's business. She and Aerys had been an intimidating pair, and Elia had cursed Rhaegar for making the introductions so formal. She had sat across the table from those twin blank faces, unable to read anything in the cool, lilac eyes, fumbling for words and coming up woefully short. She would have killed someone just to find some kind of emotion there; disapproval would have been preferable to bleak indifference.

Afterwards, Rhaegar assured her that it had all gone very well, but Elia could not believe it. She saw not one crack across the icy surface until Rhaella became pregnant with her second son. She began to take a step back from the meat and bones of the family empire to spend time in bed, reading and surrounding herself with tea and herbal remedies. Her white blonde hair, once cut in to a sharp bob, was allowed to grow long and wavy. The suits and heels were confined away in to the wardrobe, replaced by vibrant dresses and flowing fabrics. She walked around amidst a cloud of dusky incense and the gentle rustle of skirts. Elia had stumbled upon her singing softly once, as she cradled little Viserys in the nursery. There had even been a smile on her face. Elia had never seen her so happy. It was almost disconcerting.

By the time she and Rhaegar were married, the cold, distant woman Elia had first known was all but gone. The woman who replaced her was no less strange and unknowable, but at least she seemed happier. For then, at least.

Rhaella was sitting on the bed now, a protective hand across her stomarch. Elia turned in the chair to face her, all the while aware of the earrings still glinting maliciously behind her.

'He knows what I like' she conceded.

'What's he done then?' asked the older woman, raising an eyebrow. Elia looked at her, wondering whether she actually wanted to know the truth or if she were just making conversation. Did she already know the answer? She and Rhaegar had always been close. Maybe she'd been keeping his confidence all these years.

'Nothing, it was just a silly argument' she lied with a thin smile. She was sure it wasn't convincing. 'I'm sure Aerys has done the same.'

A strange, sad look fell across Rhaella's face and her arm seemed to move even further across her swollen belly. But in a flash, it was gone.

'Naturally. The men of this family say their best apologies with jewels.'

Eager to be away from the little box, Elia stood and found herself standing by the bay window. The penthouse looked out on to the bay, the long golden strand of beach glistening away in to the distance against a brilliant blue sea. It was going to be a gorgeous day.

'I'm going to take the kids to the beach' she said, trying to move the conversation along. 'I can take Viserys if you like? Or you both are welcome.'

'Just you and the little ones?' Rhaella asked, almost too quickly.

'We'll have a bodyguard of course' Elia said. 'Whent, most likely. Or Darry.'

Rhaella seemed to relax a little at that.

'Have you seen that dog the Lannister man has insisted we take on? I can't stand him. I don't know why Aerys agreed to it.'

Elia knew who she was talking about. The boy Gregor was near enough six feet tall and still growing. He had a vicious look about him, with a curt manner that left you feeling very uneasy. It wasn't rudeness – that implied you were worth being rude to. The boy was only 18 and yet he could look at you as if you were no more of an inconvenience to him than an ant. And Tywin had seen fit to give him a gun and put him to work using it. For now, he was doing minor jobs – collecting smaller debts, doing a little persuasion work where necessary. But Tywin had been strongly hinting that his talents would be more useful elsewhere. It made Elia shiver to think of it.

'He won't be with us' Elia assured her.

Rhaella stood stiffly, her face still seeming a little troubled.

'I'll think about it' she said, somewhat absently. 'Viserys isn't feeling all that well. If he feels up to it, we might join you. Thank you.'

There was a silence between them, the two women seemingly lost in their own worlds, until Elia realised that Rhaella had been the one to seek her out.

'Was there something else you wanted?' she ventured, slowly pulling the other woman back from her thoughts. Rhaella looked at her blankly.

'Nothing, my dear, I was just passing…'

 _Perhaps she did already know_ thought Elia. _Perhaps her son has already told her all the little details and she came to check up on me. She might be going to report back to him right now_. She moved towards the door, holding it open.

'I'll send word when we leave' she said. 'Maybe an hour or so, if you decide to join us.'

Rhaella smiled but said no more, leaving silently through the open door. When she was gone, Elia turned back to the dressing table and snatched up the little box, snapping it shut. She opened the nearest drawer, full of underwear, and shoved it in to the bottom before leaving the bedroom in a hurry.


	4. Chapter 4

Cat.

The café was busy, filled with lean young bodies in bathing suits and t-shirts, smelling like sun cream and sand. Cat had tried to avoid the majority of the crowd, and picked a little table out on the patio, almost on the street. This part of the strip was popular with tourists and sun seekers, and they were crowding the little bars along the front, seeking shade and a cool drink. Usually, Cat would avoid places like this. They were too busy, too loud and too hot. But Lysa had insisted, and so she had hidden herself under large sunglasses, brought herself a cocktail and been prepared to wait. Luckily, it wasn't long before her sister appeared in the crowd, darting her way toward the table.

Cat hadn't seen Lysa for three days now. Her bed had been slept in though, that much she knew. It was only the when, she couldn't be sure of. Their father had kept her busy with the club the last few days, and her own sleep pattern had been somewhat irregular. She was just beginning to worry when she found the brief little note Lysa had left for her on the bedroom mirror.

Her sister had the Tully colouring – pale, creamy skin and bright, clear eyes. A mop of thick, red hair hung in a messy ponytail at the back of her head. Cat had always thought her the prettier sister. Lysa was small and slender, with a sweet little smile and a happy laugh. She was wearing a tiny pair of denim shorts that showed almost her entire leg, and a loose shirt that she had tied to reveal her flat stomarch. It was not something she would have worn if their father could see her. She smiled in greeting and sat down, pulling her chair up close and taking a long sip from Cat's drink.

'I suppose an explanation might be too much to ask?' Cat said eventually, once Lysa had all but drained her glass. 'Where have you been?'

Her sister grinned impishly.

'Around' she said cryptically. 'You should let me bring you sometime. You'd love it.'

Cat couldn't suppress her distain, as much as she tried.

'No, thanks. I was busy working. Remember that? Work? Dad won't keep you paying your credit card bills forever Lysa.'

Her sister sighed dramatically and stretched back in the chair.

'He will. Because he loves us. And that's not the point. Don't be jealous Cat, I keep telling you to let go a bit more.'

Cat felt herself becoming angry but tried to keep her tone civil. She could hardly blame Lysa for speaking the truth.

'The business will be ours one day. I don't want to run it in to the ground. One of us has to be responsible.'

Lysa stuck her tongue out petulantly.

'Then let Edmure do it.'

She suddenly reached out and grabbed her sister's hand, leaning in close with a genuinely earnest look on her face.

'Honestly Cat, there's more to life than balancing dodgy books.'

'Oh really? Like drinking too much and never sleeping in your own bed?'

Lysa laughed.

'That's a start, yes. And there's love….'

Cat rolled her eyes and took her hand back. Lysa frowned and folded her arms.

'I'm serious' she said, sullenly. 'What's wrong with that?'

Cat looked at her younger sister. Even with her scowl she still looked pretty. Was wanting to be in love so terrible a crime? Some people were content to just let love find them, to wander in to it unawares and be caught off guard. But Lysa demanded love. She stalked it, like a hawk would its prey.

'Who is it this time?' Cat asked reluctantly, giving in to the inevitable. Lysa immediately became another creature, shy and bashful under her sister's gaze. Her grin stretched from ear to ear.

'He came looking for me the other night. He said you'd been worrying about me.'

Cat's heart fell. She wanted to reach out and take Lysa's hand and tell her to stop, but instead she stayed still, listening as the tale unfolded. Petyr had found her in one of her little watering holes. He brought her drinks, danced with her, spoke in whispered corners, pressed up against her, and taken her to his bed. She had woken up nestled in the crook of his arm, slick against his naked chest, and he had promised that he would tell her father this time. Sworn on his life, in fact. The time was right. Hoster would have to accept it- they were in love.

Cat listened with her face like stone and felt her heart break a little for her sweet sister. She knew this dance well, and the ending was all too familiar. She felt a knot in her chest when she thought about his smug, satisfied face. When had it all changed?

She listened as long as she felt able, smiling as best she could. Eventually, Lysa wore herself out and she was able to steer the conversation in to a less nauseating direction. She managed to get her to agree not to say anything to their father for a little while yet. 'To keep it special a little longer' Cat managed to say through gritted teeth.


	5. Chapter 5

Brandon.

'Fuck it! Fuck him! Fuck this!'

Brandon was lying on the lawn, a plume of white smoke rising languidly from his lips like the coils of a sea creature. He could hear Robert swearing from across the garden, even with his headphones on. He rose slowly and looked back towards the house. Robert was shouting, raising his arms and gesturing wildly. Ned had tried to put a drink in his hand, which would usually have calmed him, but instead the beer was being flung around the patio in little golden flourishes. Brandon sighed and lay back on the grass, turning the volume up on his stereo. He really didn't want to deal with Robert today. Even on his good days, the boy was grating. He was always loud, never brought his own cigarettes, and drank all their beer. In a bad mood, he was even worse. Let Ned talk to him. His younger brother had always had more patience when it came to Robert. He took a long, slow drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke upwards, watching it melt away in to the hot, blue sky above him. He was still vaguely aware of something loud happening in the distance, but he closed his eyes and tried to focus of happier things.

Like Barbary. He pictured her earthy brown hair all strewn across his pillow, the hint of her naked body under the thin sheet. That sly grin she'd given just before she'd pulled him back down on top of her. She must have left early in the morning- he hadn't heard her go. Part of him was glad. He had no wish to introduce her to his father just yet, and he was relieved that Barbary seemed to be on the same page. The other part of him? He wasn't entirely sure. When he woke up in an empty bed, he definitely felt a little sad. But was that just because he'd hoped to enjoy her one more time before she left? He decided he was thinking too much about it, and went back to remembering all his most favourite parts of her body in glorious detail. A broad smile crept across his face. He would call her later, and arrange to see her again soon.

Suddenly, he was aware that it had become a lot darker. Opening his eyes, he was met with the image of his sister, all in shadow and faintly haloed by sunlight. The sudden jarring contrast between the images of Barbary in his head and the actual image of Lyanna above him made him jump, red faced and awkward, up from the grass.

'Jesus, Lyanna, what the fuck?'

Lyanna continued to look down at him with a vague expression of impatience.

'I said, get up you idiot. We need to talk.'

Brandon looked back down to the patio where the scene now appeared somewhat calmer. Robert was knocking back the beer instead of throwing it across the garden, and Ned was talking to him in hushed tones. Their father, Rickard, had appeared too. He stood between them with arms folded, looking serious. Brandon had no wish to join them.

'I don't need to hear it, whatever your boyfriend has got himself involved in is his bloody business, not mine.'

'He's not my boyfriend' Lyanna hissed, and gave him a swift, sharp kick as if to illustrate the point. Brandon growled low and rolled away from her, pulling the headphones from his ears and finally getting to his feet.

'Perhaps you need to tell him that then' he said with a wry smile. Lyanna just glowered at him.

As they approached the patio, it was clear that the conversation was in danger of becoming heated again. Robert had finished his beer, and with nothing to occupy his hands, they were beginning to swing around dangerously again. He had a dark look in eyes. Brandon was very familiar with it, and what it usually led too.

'I think we all need to take this inside' said Rickard, gravely. Oh brilliant, thought Brandon. Put the wild animal in an enclosed space. Marvellous. Nevertheless, he followed them all through the patio doors and in to the kitchen.

The Stark family home was not particularly large, not by current standards. It wasn't like they didn't have the money, and certainly some of their other properties were somewhat more ostentatious. But the family home, the one Brandon and his siblings had spent most of their childhood in, was not much more than a large town house. Rickard had been keen that his children not grow up with any overinflated sense of importance. A Stark should not be boastful or vain, he told him. He must always remember where his roots where. Money could come and go. Power could come and go. Reputation was the currency Rickard dealt in. His business might be dark but he ran it with the brightest of ethics.

They had gathered around the table, and more beers had appeared from somewhere. Brandon took a seat next to his father, watching as Lyanna perched delicately next to Robert. The boy reached out and put a hand on her slim thigh and Brandon couldn't contain a chuckle as she quietly shooed it away. Luckily, Robert didn't seem to hear but Lyanna did and gave him another one of her cold stares.

'Look, it comes down to this' Rickard was saying. 'Aerys sets the rules, not us. We have to run things his way.'

'Fuck that' said Robert, angrily. 'I don't give a shit anymore about what Aerys wants. He doesn't have a clue.'

Brandon decided he better find out exactly what was happening seeing as he was being dragged in to it anyway.

'Can we hold on a minute please?' he said, reaching for one of the beers and taking a sip. 'Someone needs to fill me in here.'

Ned was the one to speak first.

'Aerys wants to start using another distributor' he said calmly. 'It means taking some of the work from Robert and, I suppose, us.'

'You suppose? There's no fucking suppose. He'll be calling you to tell you himself soon enough, then see how calm you feel!'

Robert had all but downed another beer and was reaching for his third.

'He wants to cut our fucking percentages. Just so he can let someone else in on the game. No fucking explanation, no fucking discussion. I'm sick of it.'

Ned was giving him an almost apologetic expression. 'Well you did ask' he seemed to say. Brandon sighed.

'Do we know who he's bringing in then? And how much we're going to lose?'

Rickard answered him this time.

'Mace Tyrell. It seems he wants to move all the blow through him now.'

'All of it!?'

Brandon was beginning to see why Robert was so pissed. Aerys controlled all the major imports in to the whole of Miami, moving cargo, paying off the police, juggling the coastguard. He had the absolute monopoly for anything coming in to the city; no one could move some much as a gram without him knowing. But he never got his hands dirty with distribution. He set the price and let the rest of them go to work. He took his generous percentage but then they could keep the rest, and if you were willing to give him his cut, then he'd even let you run your own little enterprises on the side. There was almost nothing in Miami now of any worth that didn't have drug money running through it, and most of it ran straight back to Aerys.

The Starks, the Tullys, the Baratheons; all had done very well under Aerys – as long as they were willing to pay their due. But recently, his demands seemed to becoming more random , his decisions less understandable. Now, it seemed he wanted to take away Roberts main source of income. Brandon's family had always been cautious, and Rickard had built up a number of interests around Aerys, any one of which would keep him comfortable if the others failed. But Robert and his brothers relied heavily on having distribution operations. Without it, their livelihood would definitely take a hit. Robert had a strip club over by the beach, but it didn't bring in enough to keep him and his brothers afloat, certainly not the way he spent money.

'I swear, none of this would be happening without that Lannister piece of shit' Robert was saying. 'Tywin has got that tongue of his firmly up Targaryen ass. Can't stand any operation that he's not a part of.'

'I think' said Rickard evenly, 'that we need to move carefully here Robert. Let me speak to Aerys. Like you say, he'll no doubt be contacting me soon enough about this. Let me see why he's making this decision.'

'I couldn't give a fuck!'

Robert's blood was up, Brandon could see it. He was big, even for his 20 years. He was thick in the limbs and the neck, all tight muscle and broad shoulders. His black hair was shaved close to his head, a deliberate decision that made him look even more intimidating. Most of his exposed skin was tattooed, with ink creeping up his neck and across his back; his arms were pretty much covered. Robert didn't often need to hire people to enforce his rules. His presence usually did the trick all on its own.

But Rickard had known him since he was a baby, and Brandon knew that none of this bravardo held any weight with him. Sometimes, it seemed he still spoke to him like he would a child. Robert never seemed to take offence.

'If we make a wrong move, we could all lose a lot more' he said, still in that same measured tone. 'Robert, listen to me. We can't do more until we know more. Let me speak to him.'

It seemed to be having an effect. Robert set down his beer and dropped his eyes for a moment, his breathing becoming deep and even. Lyanna reached out and stroked his arm softly.

'Ok' he said eventually. 'Ok. Fine. Speak to him. But I can't just hand over nearly all by business without so much as word Rickard, I can't.'

'You might not have to' Rickard answered.

Brandon picked up his beer and walked back towards the patio, lighting up another cigarette, eager to leave them to their conversation. He had heard all he needed to. Aerys had always held them at arms length, that much he expected. No one but the Lannisters had ever managed to get a foot hold in to the mad and strange world in which he lived, and they had brought their way in. He didn't envy them in the slightest.

Lyanna slipped up beside him and silently took the cigarette from his fingers, taking a long drag. Brandon looked at her, raising a questioning eyebrow. She laughed.

'I can't deal with him like this' she said quietly, glancing back to the kitchen table where Rickard, Ned and Robert remained. 'He just won't listen.'

'You've only realised this now?' said Brandon, taking back his cigarette. 'He's always like this. I don't know how why Ned is so fond of him.'

'They're opposites' said Lyanna softly with a chuckle. 'I think Robert is all the things Ned would like to be, but won't.'

'Because he's not an idiot.'

'Exactly. He's like his idol and his warning, all in one.'

Brandon laughed and gave the cigarette back to his sister.

'And what about you? What do you see in him?'

He expected another kick for that but Lyanna just smoked quietly for a minute and looked off out down the garden.

'He's not a bad man' she eventually. 'He's passionate. He doesn't think before he speaks, but he's good inside.'

Brandon sighed sadly. 'I can think of a hundred men I'd rather see you running around with. Or better yet, none at all. But if he makes you happy, then I suppose I can at least be mildly indifferent towards him.'

Lyanna shook her head sadly.

'It's not like that' she said softly. 'He's not for me. We tried, and it didn't work. I've told him that, and most of the time he listens. And it's not like I can just stay out of his way, not with him and Ned being so close. Just because I think he's a good man, it doesn't mean we have a future together.'

Brandon could not help but feel happy to hear that. He didn't like to think of Lyanna with anyone, but when he did, it was someone as mature and as sharp and as uplifting as she was. Robert was nothing like that. He weighed her down.

He smiled at her, saying no more, and pulled her to him so that her faced squashed up against his side. She squealed and wiggled from his grasp, darting away down the garden with his cigarette still in hand. He grinned and turned back in to the house. He needed to find the phone and call Barbary. He had plans for her tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

Jaime.

Jaime had never quite felt at home out at sea. The motion of the boat was uneasy, and the drifting horizon dipped and rolled. Worse, there was no easy escape route. But the view was undeniably spectacular. Biscayne Bay was clear and untroubled, reflecting a dazzling azure under the equally clear sky. The coastline was somewhere behind them, slightly hazy and undefined, seeming to rise up out of the sea. Light danced like flame across the surface of the water.

And before him, Cersei was stretching out on a towel and applying sun cream. It was hard not to look at her; she was all but naked in her bikini, slim and toned and turning a delicious golden brown. Her hair had been piled up in a messy bun and her green eyes were hidden behind oversized shades, but she was still every inch a beauty. Jaime sat back and tired to ignore the strange liquid feeling of being on the open water and let the sun soak in to his bones.

They were alone on their father's boat. They often took it out in the bay on the pretence of sun bathing, but in truth it was the only place they could be sure of privacy. Tywin had wanted them to take bodyguards in the past, but Jaime had laughingly dismissed his concerns. No one could sneak up on them in the water. Besides, he had his gun.

The trips had become less frequent of late. They were older now, and had other responsibilities. It was difficult finding the time. But when they did find a spare hour or two, and the weather was good, they drove down to the marina and took Joanna out in to the waters with a hamper of bread and wine.

Cersei would not usually let him touch her, not like that, when they were out in the bay. She said she felt too exposed, and Jaime would quip that she was not exposed enough or something similar. Occasionally, they might go below deck and her rules on the subject would soften but she still couldn't relax properly and Jaime couldn't enjoy himself knowing that she couldn't. Nowadays, he was just content to be with her, alone, like they were the only two people alive. He had still had his eyes after all; he could look.

She held out her empty glass towards him and he poured her another.

'Do you think he's gone too far?' she said, looking out across the water as she spoke. They had been sat in silence for a while now, but yet Jaime knew exactly what she was referring to.

'Maybe. I don't know. I don't think we really need to care. It's not like it will affect us.'

'For now.' Cersei took a long sip and turned back to him, letting her sunglasses slip a little down her nose so that she could look him in the eye. Her expression was worried.

'He doesn't trust anyone anymore. God knows what the Baratheons have done to piss him of, and he could screw us over in a second if he wakes up in a bad mood. We could lose everything….'

'Dad won't let him go too far' said Jaime. He did not quite believe it, but he hoped it was true.

Cersei picked up her towel and came to sit in the lounge chair next to him. For a short moment, her hand rested on top of his.

'The old man needs to let Rhaegar take over. He's a fool still trying to hang on to something he lost a long time ago.'

Jaime felt himself bristle at the mention of the young Targaryen. He remembered the way Cersei had flirted with at dinner. She must have felt it too because her hand came back to his then, squeezing it gently. He looked to her and found her smiling again.

'I was never serious about him. It was just a means to an end' she said simply. 'And it was all for nothing anyway. I thought we were over that.'

It might have sounded like a question but he knew that tone and it invited no reply. Cersei had always been able to see things in separation. It was a trick Jaime wished he could acquire.

'Aerys asked dad something the other night, did you know?'

She was speaking off in to the distance again. When Jaime didn't reply, she continued.

'He wants to give him one of the apartments at the beach. It was meant to be for Elia to use but she doesn't like the colour, or the cushions or something. Anyway, its three bedrooms, a whirlpool bath, private beach access, open plan kitchen….. Gorgeous, I'm sure.'

She turned back to him, smiling suddenly. Her hand tightened on his.

'I can make him give to me' she said gently. 'I know I can. He always says he wants us to get out from under his feet. This way he won't have to spend a penny doing it and I won't have to get some tedious job to teach me 'the value of money' or something stupid. It could be mine. Right now, tomorrow, I could have a place of my own. Our own.'

Jaime felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the waves. He did not turn to look her. He could not trust that he wouldn't kiss her.

'He's said as much already' Cersei was saying. 'I just have to make sure the idea is cemented.'

Her hand lightly touched the side of his face. He had to look at her then. She had taken her sunglasses off.

'I'll fucking kill him you know' he said, his voice a low growl. 'Aerys. If he screws us over; if he tries to ruin us, I swear I'll kill him.'

 _For you_. The two words hung unsaid in the space between them.

She surprised him with a kiss; light and soft, her lips only just parting for a second as they pressed on his before she pulled away.

'I wouldn't expect anything less' she said.


	7. Chapter 7

Elia.

The house in Morningside, over on the Upper East Side of the city, was Elia's favourite. It was lemon yellow, adorned in sensuous art deco flourishes and surrounded by palm trees and bright bursts of flowers. It was not so grand as the penthouse in Downtown, or as spacious as the beach house over in the bay, but it was the one that felt most like home. When she had married Rhaegar, this had been their first house together – a wedding gift from her new father-in-law. Her tastes were stamped across the whole of it; from the furniture she had picked to the colours she had painted the walls with. The things she had brought with her from California – few as they were – all lived in this house; every room had something from her old life. Walking through it was like walking back in to her past.

It had been the first home her children had known too, before they started to realise that theirs was not to be a normal life. Their bedrooms were still here, no matter where they might travel, and it still warmed Elia's heart to know that when they said they wanted to go home, they meant the yellow house.

She had not expected her husband back tonight. He had said he had things to do in the city, and that usually meant staying at the hotel. She was only half asleep, curled up in the bed sheets with the windows wide open, enjoying the air move over her bare arms. The sound of the front door stirred her, and for a moment she felt frozen in fear. Her mind quickly darted across several thoughts at once – the gun in her bedside table; the children a few doors down; the back door and how many steps it would take to reach the car. Then, just as quickly, she recognised his footsteps. Darry was downstairs somewhere and she could hear them both talking quietly, exchanging pleasantries. She sank back down in to the bed and waited, eyes wide in the dark, listening to him move around the house.

There were six bedrooms, and so even with two for Rhaenys and Aegon there were still another three for him to take his pick of. Elia wondered how she should feel that her husband no longer chose to share her bed. It had been months now, but yet still she hadn't managed to solidify her feelings on the subject. Ashara said she should be outraged. Oberyn said she should be relieved. Mostly, she felt a low, distant sadness but she still couldn't say if it was worth dwelling on. There were so many other things she had to be more concerned about.

She realised she could hear music playing softly. How long it had been playing, she couldn't say. It was coming from up above her, on the third floor. Glancing to her side, she saw it was nearly 3 am. The breeze had all but gone and the air was becoming damp in the heat. Her bed was starting to become uncomfortable and the music suddenly seemed strangely inviting. Getting up, she pulled on her robe and made her way quietly out in to the hallway. The house was dark expect for two distant lights, one from down stairs where Darry was sat in the living room, watching TV and keeping watch. He appeared briefly at the foot of the stairs at the sound of Elia walking the landing. She gave him a brief little nod and he returned there. The second one came from the floor above where mostly the room sat empty. Elia walked towards it and knocked the door lightly before entering.

The room had once been an office, back when Rhaegar had run some of the business from here. There was a desk and a computer and some shelves still but mostly it was boxes and dust. A solitary desk lamp provided a soft, amber glow casting half of Rhaegar in shadow. Now she was closer, Elia recognised the music.

'You used to play this, on the big piano in the hotel lobby.'

Rhaegar didn't turn to her when she spoke, but she saw him smile.

'My dad didn't like it. He said he paid someone to do that.'

'You don't play anymore. I haven't seen you touch a piano for months.'

'I don't do a lot of things anymore.'

He looked at her then, and even with the sharp shadows across his face, he still looked the same as the day she met him.

'I'm sorry if I woke you' he said.

'You didn't. I couldn't sleep. It's so hot tonight.'

'Are the kids ok?'

'Yes. They'll love that you're here. Will you stay for breakfast?'

'Yes.'

Elia was still in the door way, half way inside and half still in the corridor. She had long ago come to realise that a large part of her husband would always remain unknowable to her. His expressions could be unreadable, his motives obscure. He talked little and when he did, it was rarely about his feelings. It never used to concern her. In fact, it made the times he did open up to her even more special. And then her mind cast back to the incident a few nights ago, the one that resulted in a new pair of diamond earrings, and the fact that her bed was empty every night, and that the first thought she had had when she heard him come home was to reach for her gun.

She was about to turn away and leave him to his gloom when he stood and extended her a hand. It was such a surprising gesture, she just stood there for a moment, lips parted and staring.

'Elia…'

Her name sounded foreign in his mouth, and it seemed to take her a minute to understand what he was saying. Almost involuntarily, she reached out and let his hand close around hers. Joined, they still stood apart from one another. Neither one moved the make their positions more comfortable.

'I'm sorry.'

It was nothing she hadn't heard before, but there were strange new factors involved here. Gentle music, soft light, the touch of skin, the strange discord of being awake at 3 in the morning. She relaxed her arm, causing it to fall and bring him closer to her. She didn't let go of his hand.

'I love you' she said.

'I love you too' he answered.

It was not an exchange of devotion, a fan fair, a celebration. The words might have been the same as the ones said on their wedding day, but the meaning was different now. They could both hear it.

'You need to talk to your father, before he takes things too far.'

'I have. I'm worried.'

'If the wrong people start to notice….'

'I know.'

'He's not well Rhaegar. He needs help.'

'How can I get him any kind of help without the wrong people noticing?'

'Then we need to get him away from here. Away from the business. You need to take some of the responsibility from him. We need to take control.'

'We?'

'I married you. I married the business. I knew what I was getting involved with. It has to always be 'we', you know that don't you? No matter what else is going on. For our children Rhaegar.'

He glanced away at that, and she couldn't help but feel uneasy.

'Can we trust Tywin? Will he help?'

'Help himself maybe. He won't move against Aerys unless there's something in it for him.'

'Could there be? We need him on our side.'

'That man is a predator. The smell of blood in the water will bring him in for the kill. He will never be content to be second in command forever.'

'He's not second in command though. You are.'

'Elia…. I don't know anymore….'

'It's your father, and it's our future. We can't just roll over and die.'

'I don't intend to. I just wish… things were easier….'

'Nothing good is easy.'

She kissed him on the cheek, and as she leant in, a hundred memories came back to her with the smell of him. She almost found herself lingering, but then he pulled away and once again, there was space between them. She let his hand go.

They said their goodnights and she padded back towards her empty bed. The air was still calm, but the temperature seemed more bearable now. She lay awake for a little, listening to the music still playing above her.


	8. Chapter 8

Brandon.

Robert was leading the way up towards the club door, giving the bouncer a few whispered words and then beckoning them all to follow him inside. It was getting late but there was still a long line of people waiting to get in, and giving them a mix of curious and angry looks as they slipped inside in front of them. The bar was thick with people, a riot of noise and sweat, and the music too loud to really hear it. Brandon surveyed the floor, enjoying being buffeted between half naked women, but Robert was moving purposefully towards the far end of the club. A little door was half hidden just beyond the bar, guarded by another silent bouncer clad in black. This time, Robert did not need to say anything. Apparently, this bouncer recognised him.

A short passageway quickly opened up in to a little room, painted a dull, dirty blue. A large circular table sat in the centre, with a raggedy collection of chairs around it. There was barely anything else in the room, just the splutter of the air conditioning and low, murmured voices. The people around the table might be familiar to him, but most had their backs turned. Robert was greeting them enthusiastically, slapping their backs and fist pumping. A stack of playing cards was sitting in the centre of the table, amid a scattering of beer bottles and poker chips. Thin tails of smoke hung low in the air from various cigarettes.

Brandon had not needed much persuasion to come tonight. Ned had shaken his head and made some excuse, and Benjen was much too young. Lyanna had not even dignified the invite with a response. Brandon, on the other hand, loved a little late night action and had jumped at the chance. He wondered why Robert's brother wasn't here, but even as he thought it, he realised it was a stupid question. Robert had only ever really seemed close to Ned. Besides, Stannis would never be seen in a night club. It would require him to mix with other people, having fun. Some of it might even rub off on him. It would be intolerable.

As he sat down, his eyes cast around the collected faces. He recognised Penrose and Trant, and maybe one of them was Dondarrion, but he could barely be sure. He had never wanted to mix too heavily with Roberts friends. The man opposite though, he knew him. Jon Arryn was dressed in a pale grey suit, in contrast to the rest of the table who were all considerably less formal. He smelt of leather and pine and snow. The pale blue of his shirt matched his sharp eyes. He was not an old man, and yet his hair and neatly trimmed beard were already dappled grey. It lent him an elegant, sophisticated appearance. Brandon could not say that he knew him well but his reputation was established. He was one of the only rich men in Miami whose wealth was not tied up in Aerys' business deals. Jon had made his way relatively independently, doing deals over the table rather than under it, and investing heavily in real estate. Robert greeted him the most warmly and they both stood to embrace.

The cards were dealt, the beers passed round (to all except Jon, who had a whiskey), and hands were played. Brandon was not an expert poker player, but he enjoyed the game rather than the winning. He liked the subterfuge, the power plays and the bare faced lies. The table talk was pretty standard, and nothing Brandon particular wanted to get too involved with except when it was about women. The boy called Trant asked him what Barbary was like in bed and the whole table gave way to raucous laughter when Brandon replied with a wolfish smile. A waitress came in to refresh their drinks; a pretty blonde thing with a very tight t-shirt who somehow ended up sitting on Roberts lap, pouring beer in to his mouth. Brandon watched him with mild curiosity.

Eventually, Jon touched on the subject Brandon had hoped would be avoided. He hoped Robert was suitably wet with beer and too distracted by the pretty girl to get angry again. It seemed to be working so far.

'Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them' said Robert dismissively. 'Aerys can do what the hell he likes. I've got other irons in the fire. I've got plans.'

His eyes shone as he said that, a dangerous flash that could have been just the way the light hit him as he moved. Jon was handing out fat cigars and the room was beginning to fill with aromatic smoke, covering the cheap cigarettes and old cologne still in the air. Robert was balancing his between the beer and the waitress' thigh.

'I don't want to be someone's fucking bus boy for the rest of my life, you know?'

Brandon was relieved Robert wasn't getting angry, but he didn't like this direction much either. It was Jon who spoke next though.

'Well you're a bright boy Robert, I've always said. You could be more.'

He lent across and laid a winning hand nonchalantly down on the table before pulling his winnings towards him.

'So tell me about these plans of yours.'

Robert shook his head.

'No, I'm playing this one close to my chest' he said, sucking on his cigar until the end glowed a deep, menacing red.

'Sorry Jon, but you never know whose listening.'

The waitress seemed to take offence at this and made to protest but Robert stopped her with a hard kiss. She giggled and went to get more drinks.

Brandon was watching Jon. His expression hadn't changed; a skill that was probably contributing to his winning streak at the poker table. That, and the fact he had drunk about half as much as the rest of the players. Nevertheless, there was a definite uneasiness in way he looked at Robert. As he recognised it, Brandon felt his own sense of concern double and expand. Jon knew Robert well, better than Brandon and better even than Ned. After his parents died, Robert was a lost soul - an angry, lonely boy who reacted to a world of violence with a viciousness of his own. Robert had called Jon his saviour and it was probably not an overstatement. Jon had even offered Robert work when he got older and Brandon had never understood why he turned it down. If he knew then, what life would be like under Aerys' thumb, would he have made the same choice? Brandon had concluded that he probably would. Jon was a good man but he lived in world of particular method and ethics that Robert had never quite managed to feel comfortable in. He would never need a gun to do business with Jon, and that really was the crux of it.

Jon smiled, somewhat sadly, and let the conversation die. Robert was clearly not in the right mood. Brandon picked up his beer and emptied it with a long gulp, attempting to drown the disconcerting feeling that had taken root in his stomarch. Luckily though, a welcome distraction was arriving over Jon's shoulder.

The man was dressed too smartly; he wore a silver tie with an expensive three piece suit. He shoes had been polished to a ridiculous shine. Even his beard looked too neat. He walked in to the room as though they had all been waiting for him. At his arm, the slim pretty young girl giggled nervously. Her focus was very definitely on the man she clung too. Brandon gritted his teeth and glanced at his table mates to see if they too felt the same sense of invasion. It was hard to tell, but most of them seemed to be avoiding his gaze and so he suspected they might. Had it just been Petyr who was waltzing in, maybe someone would say something. But the Tully girl was well known and her name earned her obligatory entry in to most rooms, private or not.

The Tully girls, Brandon had to correct himself suddenly. Behind the peacock and his mate came the more reclusive of Hoster's daughters, walking in cautiously, a little stiff, yet still meeting every eye in the room.

Brandon knew Lysa well. They moved in similar circles, they kept some of the same friends, they shared a number illicit habits. But Cat was still a relative stranger to him. Lysa made jokes about her serious sister, always too busy to have a good time, and even Edmure had been known to crack a smile when talking about little lady Catelyn and how they would probably all end up working for her one day. Well tonight it seemed she had been persuaded to take a night off.

Lysa was already quite drunk, and Petyr had to keep her on his lap to stop her flopping around in the chair. Brandon suspected he was half cut too, although he hid it better. There was strong smell of alcohol on the both of them and they smiled all too broadly. Jon was the first to welcome them to the table and everyone begrudgingly shuffled around to accommodate them. Petyr took a cigar without waiting to be offered.

'I'm sorry we're late gentlemen' he said to the table, smoke exhaling from his mouth like dragon's breath. 'We stopped for a few drinks on our way. Lysa was most insistent.'

Lysa laughed again and ran her fingers along his cheek, tracing the thin bead and looking at him fondly. Brandon felt a little queasy.

'I didn't know you had been invited, Littlefinger' he said.

Petyr gave him a withering glare, slowly and deliberately blowing a plume of smoke in his direction as he did so. He wasn't fond of that nickname, Brandon chuckled to himself.

'There's probably a lot you don't know Stark. Our mutual friend Robert here invited us.'

Robert laughed loudly from across the table and grinned at Brandon.

'It's true, it's true. I thought more the merrier. And Baelish here is a damn good poker player. He might be the one to put a stop to Jon's winning streak.'

The only space left for Cat to take was next to Robert. She sat down rather delicately, smiling politely but not actually looking him in the eye. A wise move, Brandon thought. Anything more direct might be taken as an invitation.

'Cat, we don't often see you at the game table. How are you? How's your father?' Jon offered her his cigar tin but she shook her head. 'A drink?' He glanced around and motioned silently to the waitress who disappeared back towards the bar.

'I have been reliably informed that I do not have enough fun' she said pointedly. 'I am attempting to change that.'

'And you look like your having a fucking blast right now' said Robert, still laughing. Cat smiled back awkwardly and Brandon saw the flash in Roberts eye. In an instant, his arm was round her, pulling her towards him. She could not look more uncomfortable. 'We need more drinks here!' she shouted. 'Alcohol for the lady!'

Brandon chuckled as Cat shot him daggers. Brandon shrugged at her. Like I have any control over how Robert acts. She was managing herself fairly well though. With impressive swiftness, she had detangled herself from Roberts slack embrace and was leaning away from him, every limb crossed. Her body language could not have been any clearer and yet still Robert's hand was searching out her arm again.

The waitress came back with another tray of drinks, setting down a whiskey and coke in front of Cat a little too hard and glaring at Robert. A few more hands were played with Petyr dominating the conversation while Lysa laughed a little manically. The fun seemed to have left the room though, not that Brandon was sure it was ever there to begin with. Robert's words earlier stayed with him, as well as the uneasy look in Jon's eyes. He decided to ask Ned about it later. Robert might have shared these secret plans with him, and if he hadn't, Ned was the best person to find out. He only hoped it was drunken bravardo and nothing that was likely to bring down Aerys on their heads. His family could do without that headache.

Luckily, the night seemed to be drawing to a close. Jon was the first to leave, bidding Cat and Lysa a gracious goodbye and shaking everybody's hand but Petyr's, causing Brandon no end of amusement. The group began to slowly disband after that, until the last of them started to move as group out in the night, talking loudly and never quite finishing their sentences. Brandon waited silently against a wall, enjoying the breeze while Robert had a cigarette and spoke loudly at everyone and no one in particular.

'Hey, can I ask a favour?'

Cat had appeared from somewhere. The light from the marina was behind her, making her hair like flame. To his slightly drunken mind, that thought was suddenly very funny and he laughed at her. She looked at him with an expression of confusion and what was possibly pity.

'My sister is wrecked' she continued. 'I don't trust Petyr to take her home safely. Can you walk her back to my dad's?'

'What about you?' Brandon had not meant that to sound the way it did. He wanted to ask if she needed walking home too. He realised he would quite like to spend a little more time with her, but from the look she was giving him, she clearly hadn't understood his real meaning and was probably regretting staring the conversation.

'I have to go back to the club' she said tersely. 'I need to finish up some things there. Will you just walk her back please? I don't trust Petyr at all. The only reason I came tonight was to see how he was with her. And he's still an ass.'

Brandon couldn't argue with her logic. Over her shoulder, Lysa was leaning at a strange angle and looking quite sick. Petyr was paying her no attention as he smoked and spoke animatedly to someone else.

'Yeah of course I will' he said, trying to clear some of the alcohol fog from his head. 'But I'll be walking back with Robert. I don't know if he's any better to be around.'

Cat smiled, and let herself laugh a little.

'I will take a hundred drunk Roberts over one sober Petyr. Besides, I know I can trust you.'

Brandon felt a little pull in his chest.

'Why do you say that?'

She shrugged.

'I just do. You Starks are well known for your reliability.'

He couldn't be sure if she was mocking him.

'Maybe Ned, but I would rather have a reputation for something more… exciting.'

She laughed out loud at him then, and suddenly looked quite young and happy. It was disarming.

'Just get her home safe' she said with a chuckle.

Brandon decided to get a cab for them all – it was easier than trying to wrangle two drunks along a busy Miami street. He waited diligently at the foot of the steps until Lysa had managed to open her front door and then shut it again behind her. Robert was adamant that they continue their night somewhere else but Brandon was feeling tired. As a compromise, to extend their night a little longer, he agreed to pay the cab fare and walk the last few blocks to Robert's apartment. Robert was entering the tale end of drunkenness by now – the slow, languid end that prompted long rambling speeches. Brandon knew what was coming. Still, it was fun to pretend.

'I love her you know. I fucking love her.'

'Who?'

'Who do you fucking think? Lyanna. I love her.'

'It didn't look that way tonight. Not when you had your tongue in that waitress and your hands all over Cat.'

'Oh man, that doesn't mean anything! Pretty girls man, pretty girls.'

'Lyanna wouldn't see it that way.'

'She doesn't understand. If I was with her, I'd never look at another girl again.'

'Come on Rob, don't lie to yourself.'

'I mean it! She makes me better. I could be better if I had her.'

'I don't know what to say Rob. You need to talk to her, not me.'

'I do talk to her. She says I'm not mature enough. I tell her everything! I fucking open my heart to her man, and she still says I'm too immature.'

He stopped dead, swaying slightly as if moved by a breeze. His face was deadly serious.

'I have a kid, did you know that?'

Brandon was genuinely surprised, although he didn't know why. It made sense.

'No, I didn't. How old?'

'Three. Lyanna knows. And Ned, but he knows everything. I told her because I wanted to be honest. I have a kid that I hardly ever see but I pay my fucking child support and I do my best and she still thinks I'm a fucking child.'

Brandon suspected Lyanna did not see it that way Robert did. He also suspected that now was not the time to argue it.

'Does the kid live here? In Miami?'

'Yeah. Little black haired beauty, she is. Her mother takes good care of her, she doesn't need me. I could have that with Lyanna though. Me and her, kids of our own. That's what I want. It's all I want.'

He started to walk again, lurching onward in to the night. Brandon followed quietly, the uneasiness in his heart growing stronger with every step.


	9. Chapter 9

Cat.

Cat waited until Lysa was safely in the cab before making to leave. Brandon and Robert piled in behind her and in a moment, she was being whisked away in to the night. She had fleeting thought about Robert trying something before they got her home but she dismissed it quickly. Lysa was too much in love to betray her Petyr. And besides, Robert was very much not her type. She would be more attracted to Brandon. She laughed as she heard herself think that, realising that was her opinion rather than anything Lysa might think. And why not? Brandon was attractive, in a rather rough sort of way. Most of what she knew of him was hear say though, and it didn't always cast him in a positive light.

Cat had not had a long list of boyfriends; she had never really been interested in having one. There had been a few stupid flings when she was younger, nothing more than teenage fumbling. Anyone who had the potential to be something more serious had been scared off by her dad. She didn't think Hoster was a scary man by nature - and he had often told Cat that he wanted her to find someone - but nevertheless most men seemed rather intimidated by him. Cat used this as her yard stick. If they couldn't hold their own with him, then they wouldn't be of any use to her.

And then, of course, there had been Petyr. Cat's skin bristled. She had been 15 and yet she still cringed to think of it. She remembered how he kissed her, slow and timid, with his lips hard and dry against hers. She had felt so excited as he lent in, feeling like she was falling, watching his mouth come closer and closer to hers. But when the awkward reality failed to live up to the glorious feeling in her stomach, she was left with a very uncomfortable situation. Petyr was a good looking boy, and they had been so at ease with each other as children. Where were the fireworks? In the end, she put it down to the excitement of the forbidden, the thrill of the unknown. It was the situation that had excited her, not the boy. She wished she had been wiser. It might have avoided all this strangeness between them now.

Despite herself, she had enjoyed tonight. She would have preferred different company but it hadn't all been bad. She liked seeing Jon again, and it had been nice to feel her age for a change; a teenager, hanging out with people her own age, drinking in a club. Ok, it was in the back room of a club at a high stakes poker game, but that was beside the point. It was as close to 'normal' as she was likely to get. But there was work to be done now, and she had to get it done before she could put an end to this night. Once again, closing the club had fallen to her. The books needed to be balanced (both the regular and the not so regular ones) and the money counted and locked away. She'd need to do a bank run in the morning too. It wouldn't take long, hopefully, but she could do with having a clear head before she started. With that in mind, she decided to walk rather than take a cab. It was not far and the walk would wake her up a little. She was tired a lot lately.

The bar was dead by the time she arrived, with only the bar staff around doing the clean up. She smiled but did not stop to chat, preferring to head straight upstairs. She punched in the security code on the door and stepped in to the little office, surveying the scene. Edmure had been here this morning, and he had left his mark. Files were open on the desk, their papers disorganised and half on the floor. An oddly high amount of pens had been discarded across the room. The little window was open too, allowing a breeze to rifle through the loose papers and scatter them even more. The computer had been left on, and various drawers were open with their contents in disarray. To an untrained eye, it might have looked like they'd been burgled.

Cat sighed and took up her seat, realising quickly that her little end of night job would now become something rather more lengthily. She searched through one of the draws until she found it – the bottle of whiskey her father kept there, and a pair of glasses. She poured herself one and turned on the radio that sat on the windowsill. She stood next to it for a minute, sipping her drink and listening to the music before turning it up loud. If she had to do work, she might as well have a little fun doing it.

She set about sorting the files, putting the papers back in order and reorganising the drawers, all while the heavy beat filled the room. The whiskey was going down very smoothly, taking the edge off her tiredness. She found herself beginning to sway around the room, moving to the beat, relaxing in to the job at hand. As the music built, she closed her eyes and began to feel it throb inside of her, filling her up, mixing with the whiskey until she began to feel a little dizzy. Before long she was in the middle of the room, jumping around, lost completely in the riot and shouting the words out at the top of her lungs.

The hand on her arm pulled her back like a slap in the face. Breathless and messy, she found herself looking in to a pair of laughing grey eyes. The music was still pounding, and as the blood rushed to her face, she could hear it thundering in her ears too. Neither of them said a word, and for a minute she just looked at him open mouthed. His hand was still on her arm.

With achingly slow movements, Petyr lent across the turned off the radio. The sudden silence was almost painful, and Cat was suddenly very aware of her own breathing. It seemed so loud.

'Quite the dancer, aren't you. I wouldn't have guessed.'

Finally, Cat pulled her arm away from his grip. Swallowing hard, she ran her hands shakily over her hair, trying to smooth it back all while doing a quick mental appraisal of how she must look. Grasping for words, she found herself coming up woefully short. Petyr began to chuckle, and she could smell the alcohol on him.

'After Lysa left me high and dry, I thought I should come over and give you a hand. It seems terribly unfair that you get left with all the work.'

Very slowly, very deliberately, his eyes moved downwards across her body. Cat tugged her top down, trying to cover herself as much as possible, but it didn't seem to discourage him.

'Although it looks like you were doing fine without me.'

At last, Cat found her tongue.

'Yes. I am. Thank you. There's no need to stay. I'm almost finished.'

Petyr did not move. Instead his eyes travelled back upwards and met hers, giving her a smile like oil.

'Little Cat. You never let anyone in. Why are you always so brittle?'

Hearing her fathers' nickname in his mouth made her feel instantly worse.

'I'm not. I just don't need your help, that's all.'

He licked his lips, still moving ever so slowly, and laughed gently. Cat wanted to move but she was still caught in her own embarrassment, her body not quite responding as quickly as she'd like. Like a predator sensing a weakness, he moved a step closer.

'I would give her up, if you asked me to' he said, softly. Cat looked at him incredulously.

'I'd give her up, for you.'

And then all of a sudden he was leaning in to her, just like that boy when she was 15. In a second, his lips were pressing against her own again, and his tongue was trying to find hers, and his hands were crawling up her sides and in to her hair. And she almost screamed.

'It's always been you, Cat' he was saying between kisses, still pressed up against her. 'I don't love Lysa. I could make you happy, I swear it.'

Cat was struggling under his grip, trying to move her face away from him, but his hands just held her tighter. His breath was hot on her skin, reeking of booze and smoke. Her hands went to his, trying to prise them from her but they were too strong, and held on despite her wiggling.

'Your father loves me, I know he'd approve. We could rule this city Cat. You and me.'

He tried to kiss her again, this time slamming his face in to hers, violently, aggressively seeking out her lips. She kept her mouth shut, screwing her eyes shut too, and focused all her energy on trying to pull his hands from her.

'Just think about it' he gasped. 'Think about what we could be.'

She felt his tongue try to slip in to her mouth again, hot, wet and probing, and she finally managed to wrench her head away from him. Putting all her weight behind the pull, she yanked backwards from his grip and was at last free of him. Her lips felt bruised and swollen. She still had the taste of him in her mouth.

She hit him. She hit him full in the face, with all the weight of her anger behind her. His head snapped back like a doll, the bruise already blossoming on his cheek before her hand had fallen. She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

'Don't you ever try that again. Do you understand me?'

If his face hurt, and she could only assume that it must do, he didn't show it. He looked at her blankly. He's shocked, she realised with surprise. He's genuinely shocked that I rejected him.

'We will never be together' she continued, trying to be as clear as she could. 'You are my friend, and I will value you as a friend, but that is all I want from you.'

They both stood silently, Cat tensed and Petyr blank, until there was a flicker across his face and all of the sudden the mask returned. He straightened himself, rolled his shoulders and sniffed, looking to all the world as if he had just smelt something mildly unpleasant rather than been smacked in the face.

'I can see this a bad time for you' he said stiffly. 'I'm sorry I bothered you.'

He turned and left without another word. Cat stood in the silent, empty office, listening to her breathing and trying to relax the knot in her shoulders. Gradually, the tension melted in to shakiness and she collapsed in to the chair, staring at the door until she began to feel normal again.


	10. Chapter 10

Jaime.

Aerys was sat in his dining room, alone at the giant table. It made him look very small, Jaime thought. He was eating with his fingers, dipping randomly in to the plate of food in front of him, his hand wet and stained. The room, like the table, was huge. The entire upper floor of the Targaryen hotel was Aerys' private apartment. Jaime had only seen a fraction of it but knew it had bedrooms, sitting rooms, kitchen, a study, a library, a gym, bathrooms and a roof top pool amongst its many delights. All of it was glittering white marble with minimalist touches in granite and slate. Where fabric was allowed, for the curtains and cushions for example, it was rich, embroidered damask in beige, cream and snow. There was a faint antiseptic smell, like the inside of a hospital.

'So tell me Lannister, does your father know what you're asking me?'

Jaime had thought about how he would answer this question. Both options had their benefits, but in the end he knew which one was more likely to get the response he was after.

'No Sir, he doesn't.'

Aerys chuckled and picked up another piece of chicken, sucking his fingers clean as he did.

'The old man will not like this. No, not one bit. Not at all.'

He continued to chuckle loudly.

'Does that mean you agree?'

Jaime was beginning to get impatient. The smell was cloying and stuck in his throat. Aerys had made him stand there for a full half hour so far, not even offering a chair. Nevertheless, he could sense he was near his goal. Aerys regarded him slowly.

'Tywin will say I coerced you. Oh, he certainly plays at being my loyal friend but I know what's in his black heart. He would never want his precious children to get their hands dirty for me. Not even that buggering dwarf you call a brother, as if I'd ever have him.'

Jaime gritted his teeth and bared the insults. He had known they were inevitable. He set his face to a serious, calm expression and weathered them as best he could.

'So tell me, young Lannister. Why do you want to come and work for me? Is life in your little palace really so dull?'

Jaime's thoughts immediately went to Cersei and the last time he'd seen her. She had been naked, curled up beside him, her golden hair messed up around her and a sad look on her face. New York, she had told him gravely. She had heard their father talking. He would run his operations upstate, and mange his interests there. It would be a fantastic opportunity, and he would be out of the shadow of his father at last. A free man.

But the thought of that much responsibility was overwhelming. He had no desire to be in charge of anything so serious. And what's more, it would all be without her.

'My father has never taken me seriously' he said, lying. If anything, his father took him far too seriously, and that was the problem. 'I want to get involved any way I can. If he won't let me work for him, then I thought maybe I should ask you.'

Aerys seemed to like that.

'Of course, I should have come to you first Sir' Jaime added with a sly smile. 'Why work for the monkey when I could work for the organ grinder.'

Aerys snorted and placed another handful of food in to his mouth, messily.

'You're lying Lannister. You lot lie so naturally. But whatever, I do like the idea of stealing you away from the old man.'

He wiped his mouth across his sleeve and sat back in his chair, creaking as he did.

'But I don't have any use for you in, what you might call, an office position. I have your father for that, and better men than you besides. But I suppose I could use you in other ways.'

Jaime rocked slightly back and forth on his heels, slowly. Aerys laughed again.

'You have a talent with a firearm, so I hear. That's always useful. I have a few men who do my errands for me; take messages that I don't want written down anywhere - God knows I can't trust the phone any more – and pick up packages. You might also need to do a certain level of quality control, if you take my meaning. Dispose of the waste. Can you do all that, do you think?'

It was a better offer than Jaime had hoped for. He knew Aerys would not have him in any position he thought prestigious, not yet at least. But what he was proposing sounded good enough for now. There would be a gun in his hand and that's what mattered. The glory would come later.

'I think I can do that' he said with a grin. Aerys began to clean his teeth nosily with his tongue.

'I mean it boy. You take me up on this, and you're in. You're my man. You answer to me first, your father second. Or not at all if I say so.'

Jaime did not need to think about it. He would bare his father's wrath in good time. Once he took this step, Tywin could not undo it. There would be no New York.

'I know what I'm doing Sir.'

'Do you? Good. I need men who know what they're doing.'

He leant back over his table, letting his cuffs trail in to his half eaten food. There was strange look about him; his skin looked clammy and pale, like wax.

'They're all waiting' he said, a half whisper. 'They want to see me fall, but I won't give them that satisfaction. Let them scurry around in the gutter, they are nothing to me. I got where I am with pain and work and blood. I can't trust you Lannister, you understand. It's nothing personal, but I can't trust anyone now. I'll see it burn before I let them have it from me.'

Jaime just nodded. He had heard this rant before. It, and speeches like it, were becoming all the more regular these days. He suspected Aerys was sampling rather too much of his own product. He wondered how much longer he had left before his father began to slowly root him out. No doubt he had already started, but he hoped he still had some time. With Aerys gone, the ugly question of New York might rear its head again. He would have to deal with that when the time came.

Their conversation was halted when Rhaella came in. She came to her husband softly, like a lamb, hunched over with her arms across her pregnant belly. Jaime did not always remember her as such. He had heard the rumours. Looking at her, he could quite believe them true. Aerys took her hand as she offered it, without turning to look at her.

'My dear, we have gained a new recruit. Lannister here wants to join my little enterprise.'

Rhaella looked at Jaime with a rather vacant stare, her pale violet eyes red and wet. She gave a weak smile.

'And my son, how is he? The new one you're cooking up for me. Three boys I'm going to have Lannister. Three healthy, well formed boys. Your father can't say the same can he? Ha!'

Rhaella continued to give her fragile smile.

'He's well. He'll be ready any day now.'

She patted her stomarch and whilst she did, her smile seemed genuinely brighter.

Aerys stood suddenly and Rhaella flinched away, the smile gone as quickly as it had appeared. She bowed her head as he turned to her, her gaze firmly and determinedly on the floor.

'I'm finished. Go to my room and wait for me there.' He kissed her dryly on her forehead, and Jaime saw her flinch again from his touch. He wondered how she could be so weak, to allow herself to become such a cowering mess. Nevertheless, as he watched her scurry away, he felt a pang of pity for the poor creature. Motherhood did strange things to some women. After Rhaegar, there had been no more children for years until Viserys turned up, like some kind of miracle. There had been many failed attempts in between, if his father was to be believed.

'We will talk again Lannister' said Aerys, as he made to leave. 'Be here tomorrow evening. I wish I could be there when the old man hears this, I really do. See yourself out.'

There was no music in the elevator. It had always been quietly disconcerting somehow. A metallic ping sounded as the doors opened and Jaime moved to leave but realised he was not yet on the ground floor. A boy shuffled in instead, his face hidden by a thick mop of greasy black hair. He slipped in silently next to Jaime, standing as far away from him as the small space allowed. He was hunched over, his hands deep in his jean pockets, and yet he was still tall. It was a gangly kind of height though, all arms and legs, as though he had not yet quite grown in to himself. Nevertheless, there was more than a hint of muscle under his loose fitting clothes. Jaime watched him as the elevator continued its descent. When it became clear that the boy was going to remain silent, Jaime offered the first greeting. The boy turned his face slightly towards him, grey and sullen eyes regarding him warily. He nodded in acknowledgement. Jaime smiled brightly and took a step sideways, closer towards him.

'Off on some exciting errand, no doubt?'

Sandor looked at him again, with a noise that might have been a growl. As he turned, more of his face was exposed from under his hair. The scars still looked raw, as though they were new formed. They pulled the rest of the skin taunt at slightly strange angles, twisting his mouth in an unnatural snarl. Jaime could see why he hid himself under that mess of hair. He would too if he were similarly maimed.

'Something like that' the boy answered grimly. He turned away again, and Jaime could see a familiar outline in the small of his back, holstered snugly under the loose jumper. There were not many 15 year old boys who could walk around the city with a firearm so blatantly strapped to them. But Sandor was Twyins man. And by extension, he was also a Targaryen man. It gave you a certain level of privilege, even to someone as low level as Sandor. Jaime could not recall exactly when the younger Clegane had been drafted in to do his father's grunt work but the boy had always been around, somewhere; a black haired little scruff shuffling around the hotel, watching from behind the plant pots and annoying the diners in a fancy restaurant by stealing food from their plates. The older brother had not around then – some institute upstate if Jaime recalled – and Sandor and his little sister would play hide and seek under the tables while their father talked with Tywin. Jaime tried to remember what had happened to the girl. He drew a blank.

'I might be joining you soon' said Jaime said brightly. The boy looked at him suspiciously.

'I doubt that. The golden boy, out running with the dogs?' He gave a hollow, bitter laugh. It sounded strange on one so young.

'It's true. Although you're right, I might not actually be doing….whatever it is that you do… What is that exactly, I've always meant to ask.'

The elevator had reached the ground floor, and Sandor left first, striding purposefully across the reception. Jaime matched his stride.

'I do whatever your father asks' said the boy, looking straight ahead. 'It's simple. I do the work, I get paid. That's all there is to it.'

They had reached the main doors, and the sun was waiting for them out in the street. Sandor took a right and carried on walking. Jaime kept up.

'How noble' he said with a grin. 'Your father would be proud I'm sure. One son an errand boy, the other a murderer. Perhaps one day you'll work really hard and become just like big brother.'

Sandor did not break his stride. With a startling fluidity, he turned and was suddenly facing Jaime, one hand on his throat and the other reaching for the small of his back. Caught off balance, Jaime found himself being pushed hard against the wall, his feet barely finding purchase on the sidewalk. He slammed against the stonework with a force that made his ears ring. The boys face was close to him; they were nearly matched for height. The hair had been blown from his face, revealing the full and ugly extent of his old wound. His mouth twitched, the snarl curling his lip. Jaime could feel the tip of his gun digging in to the underside of his chin.

'You keep your fucking nose out of my business' he said slowly. 'Understand?'

It took Jaime a moment to adjust to what had happened. The boys grip was already loosening, but he could still feel the strength of it. Still, the boy was just 15 and Jaime was nearly a man. He pushed him away with a shove, all the while thinking he would not like to be in a similar situation when Sandor had grown in to those limbs of his.

'Ok, ok… I didn't mean any offence.' Jaime put a steadying hand on Sandor's shoulder. He could feel tension there, but the boy did not flinch and met his eye with his own.

'I make bad jokes, it's my one fault. You can't hold it against me.'

Sandor seemed to have relaxed a little, and shrugged Jaime's hand away from him. He resumed his hunched posture, the hair once again sweeping over his face.

'You've killed people' he said flatly. 'I know you have. What makes you so different?'

Jaime could not deny his logic. If Gregor was a murderer, then so was Sandor and so was he. The difference, said his mind unbidden, was perhaps that he and Gregor enjoyed it more. That made him shiver. He pushed it away.

'Look, I really am sorry. I just meant to say that I'm working for Aerys now. I don't know what he'll have me doing yet, but it might be that you and I are in a similar line of work now.'

Sandor chuckled, but it was an empty, humourless sort of laugh. He dug around in his pocket for a moment before producing a battered cigarette box and offering one to Jaime.

'Why?'

Jaime looked at him over his cigarette and inhaled a long, deep lungful of smoke.

'Why not?'

Sandor shrugged and started to walk again, this time at a slower pace. Jaime followed.

'You don't need the money' said the boy. 'And if you did, there are easier ways to earn it. You could go anywhere. You could get out of this city. Why stay?'

Jaime very almost told him the truth. In the end, he changed it only a little.

'I don't want to leave' he said simply. 'And I don't want my father to make me.'

Sandor considered this for a moment.

'Fair enough' he said eventually. They walked in silence until the end of the street.


	11. Chapter 11

Brandon.

There was a knot in Brandon's stomach as he ran through the dark, his feet falling heavily on the concrete. The streetlights flashed past, blurred streaks of neon at the side of his vision. His chest hurt with the effort of breathing. Taking another sharp turn, he nearly slipped but kept his pace. There were only a few more blocks to go, and Ned's shaky voice was ringing in his head the whole time. All through the call, he could hear Robert screaming in the background.

There were a number of warehouses in the docklands, most belonging to the Baratheons. They sat like black monoliths in the dark, large and silent. Brandon strained his ear but could hear nothing. No screaming. No gun shots. The knot in his stomach tightened suddenly. Maybe he was too late.

He kept on running down the line of buildings, his foot falls echoing up the metal walls with a strange twang, trying to hear something that might indicate where he needed to go. Suddenly, he saw a faint lemony light glinting out from one of the warehouse doors. He ran at full pelt towards it, skidding on the gravel as he approached, and arriving shoulder first with a crash. It was not locked, and he fell through awkwardly, trying to keep his balance. It took him a moment to adjust and steady himself, and his eyes darted quickly around the empty space. The warehouse was large but vacant. A few miscellaneous pieces of machinery stood in the corners, their angles casting sharp, black shadows. The air was warm, dusty and tasted metallic. He could hear his quickened breath echoing up around him.

The light was coming from a single bare light bulb at the far end of the building. Four figures were outlined against it, but their features were lost in shadow. Brandon started to run towards them, his arms raised up in case they mistook him for a threat. Immediately, he recognised Robert. The eldest Baratheon stood like an ox next to the others. He was topless, and his bare skin looked wet and dirty. As he moved, the tattoos across his chest rippled and flexed. The expression on his dark features was nothing short of murderous. Brandon could practically feel his anger as he neared him, like a heat. Other faces came in to focus. Ned was stood closest to his friend, his clothes messy and torn in places. He was dirty too; his hands and forearms stained with what looked like black grease. There were smears of it on his face too. The metallic taste in the back of Brandon's throat grew sharper as he came close, and the light caught the stains showing them dark red. He realised now that there were five people in the room – the fifth laying in a crumpled heap in the centre of the others. He couldn't take that in right then though. He needed to make sure Ned and Benjen were ok.

His youngest sibling was the smallest of the four and he stood a little apart from them. He looked a little shaken but otherwise unhurt. Next to him, the last of the group was looking nervously at Brandon. Renly looked the spitting image of his brother, although was much younger. He had a fuzz of fluffy black hair and the same expressive eyes. He opened and shut his mouth silently, spreading his arms with open palms towards Brandon. He began to stammer something but Brandon did not want to hear it. He charged at Robert, shoving him hard in his bare chest and knocking him backwards. All the sickness he had felt as had run to them, all the panic he had felt when Ned called, all was now directed towards this bull headed boy with the murderous eyes. He did not have time to think about the consequences.

'What the fuck are playing at!' he shouted. It was not a question and he did not wait for an answer. He pushed him again, harder, and Robert almost fell.

'You're fucking insane, do you know that?! Don't you dare try and bring my family in to this shit, do you understand!?'

Robert had been caught off guard but he had quickly recovered himself. His lip curled in a vicious snarl and he launched himself back at Brandon, fists clenched. Brandon managed to dodge the first blow but a second caught him in the fleshy part of his stomach and winded him. Robert hit him again and this time Brandon fell, feeling his mouth instantly fill with blood. He landed hard on the dirt floor, cracking his back as he did, but never once looking away. As Robert lunged, he was ready, and kicked out at the last second, burying his foot in to Roberts ribs and sending him flying. In an instant, they were both back on their feet and coming at each other again. This time though, there was resistance. Ned and Benjen were suddenly at his side, pulling him back. Renly was with Robert, dwarfed by his older brother but holding on nevertheless. It was enough.

Brandon wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and took a step back. His jaw felt tender already and he knew he would have a massive bruise this time tomorrow. It was Ned who broke the silence first.

'Everyone's alright.' he said calmly. 'We're fine Bran.'

Brandon couldn't believe this was the same boy who'd called him earlier. He looked away from Robert to the huddled man on the floor. He was covered in blood and eerily still. His face was a mess of swollen and tattered skin.

'He's not' said Brandon flatly.

Robert shook himself free from Renly's hold and spat in the direction of the dead man.

'He's nothing. It's nothing. It doesn't mean shit to you Stark. Back off.'

Brandon walked over to the figure and lent over him, trying to find some kind of distinguishing feature amidst the ruin of his face but there was nothing he could make out.

'Who was he?' he asked. He noticed Robert's gun was lying in the dirt next to the body.

'One of the new guys' said Ned, coming to stand next to him. 'Robert said he was going to shake them up a bit.'

Brandon swore under his breath and ran his hand through his hair. Behind him, he could hear Robert beginning to pace again.

'What the fuck is your problem? I needed to teach them a lesson, ok? I needed to make my point. Fucking little shit.'

'So what's your plan now then, genius? How are we going hide this from Aerys?' Brandon turned to look at Robert, feeling the anger begin to rise up again in his throat.

'What do you mean 'we'?' sneered Robert. 'You've got fuck all to do with this.'

'I have now' said Brandon, trying to stay calm. 'How many people saw you take him? How many people saw my brothers with you? For fuck's sake, his blood is all over Ned!'

Robert laughed viciously. 'Then they should be proud. They were here at the start of my glorious revolution.'

It was Brandon's turn to laugh now.

'What the fuck are you talking about? What revolution? You think Aerys is going to hear about this and just hand everything back over to you? You think this will scare him?'

He kept laughing, so hard that his jaw ached. He could feel Robert's eyes on him. This was all so ridiculous.

'We need to get this cleaned up' he said eventually, trying to compose himself. 'We need this cleaned up and we need to keep our heads down. Aerys doesn't need to know it was you.'

Robert was glowering at him with a sullen, dark expression.

'I want Aerys to know it was me!' he said aggressively. 'He needs to know he can't fuck me over like this.'

Brandon licked his lips, tasting the traces of blood still there. He walked around the body and picked up Robert's gun, wiping the blood from it with the edge of his t-shirt.

'You haven't thought this through' he said, trying to keep his voice level. 'What exactly is going to happen once Aerys finds out you've been killing his employees without his permission?'

Robert seemed to have no answers this time. Brandon continued to clean the gun before taking out the cartridge and putting it in his back pocket.

'I'll tell you what will happen' he continued. 'Aerys will bring your whole fucking house down around you. He won't listen to reason. He won't try and negotiate with you. He's so fucking paranoid these days that he'll crush you without a second thought if he gets even a whiff of this so called 'revolution'. You, Renly and Stannis will all burn. And then he'll burn me and my family. And then, maybe, he might have gone far enough to get himself arrested. But by then, you'll be too dead to care.'

He put the gun in his front pocket and looked down at the bloody mess. Roberts t-shirt was lying under the body, soaked dark red. He carefully removed it.

'So, let's look at this at this logically. Where did you take him?'

Robert didn't answer. It was Benjen who spoke up.

'We followed him from a bar nearby. He took a short cut down an ally and we got him there. No one saw us.'

'I hope so' said Brandon. 'Ok, so we need to move the body. Whose car is here?'

'Mine' said Ned solemnly. Brandon cursed again.

'Drive home, or better yet got to a busy bar and let people see you. Take Benjen with you and leave the car there. We'll clean it later.'

'I can help' Ned protested. 'We both can.'

Brandon smiled sadly.

'I know. But I don't want you both around here any longer than you need to be. If anyone saw you tonight, then you need to go on acting like nothing's wrong. They wouldn't be looking for me, so I can stay here. I wasn't with you.'

Ned nodded. Brandon stopped for a moment and considered his options. They were in the docklands. The water front was only a few short paces from the warehouse. A heavily weighted body could disappear down in to the depths and never remerge. Roberts's gun would need to go too. With any luck, it was not the one he had registered in his name. He looked around at the old machinery still littering the empty space. There were some loose cogs and bars of iron that could be useful, as well as some rope. Luck appeared to be on their side.

Only Renly helped him at first. Robert continued to brood in the corner, rubbing his hands together and saying nothing. Brandon didn't talk to him. He hoped his words were sinking in. Eventually, when it came to start lifting the body, Robert joined them. Quietly, they shuffled out of the warehouse back door, the faceless man in between them. The night was still and dark. There were no streetlights here to illuminate their movements. Over in the distance, the soft curve of South Beach glinted invitingly in the night.

They lay the body on the edge of the concrete, just before the edge dropped suddenly in to the black water. Brandon told the brothers to go fetch the machinery parts and rope while he wrapped Roberts' gun and cartridge casing in his bloody t-shirt. He was about to start considering what to do with his own bloody clothes when he heard sounds coming from the direction of the warehouse. Motorbikes.

Brandon froze. The sound was coming closer. There were three, maybe four of them. He crouched down low, his nose filling up again with the smell of blood, and strained his eyes in to the night. He could see movement, and then suddenly the lights of the bikes exploded in to view as they careered down towards the warehouse. He could hear voices, shouting and angry. They were coming for them.

Brandon's hands moved automatically, finding Robert's gun from its bloody wrappings and loading the cartridges with quick, fluid movements. His own gun was hanging at his side, and he reached for that too. The voices were louder now, echoing from inside the warehouse, shouting to be heard over one another. He could see the edges of shadows dancing around inside, moving quickly. Amid it all, he could hear Robert roaring.

With a gun in each hand, he stood and ran back towards the doorway. As he reached the entrance, he had just enough time to count the number of men standing there before the air exploded with gun fire.


	12. Chapter 12

Cat.

She had been having a dream, although the details of it were hanging just out of her reach. She awoke with a jerk and sat upright in her bed, her eyes slow to adjust to the darkness of her room. It was not morning yet. She lay back down and closed her eyes again, trying to get her bearings. Why had she woken? Slowly, reality started to creep in to her consciousness. There were noises coming from downstairs; voices and movement. She couldn't quite make out the words but the tone was unmistakeable. Someone was angry.

Her first thought was for Lysa. Still groggy, she stumbled from her bed and groped in the dark for the door. There were lights on downstairs, in the kitchen and the front room, and she could hear her father. She almost tripped down the stairs, anxious to get to him and her sister. Maybe he'd found out about Petyr. Maybe Lysa was in trouble. She crashed in to the kitchen, blinded by the sudden bright light, and had to steady herself against the work surface. Blinking, her eyes adjusted and she took a breath, ready to spill out all of her defences for her little sister.

They died on her tongue. Her father was stood in the centre of the kitchen, but there was a stranger with him. She cast around quickly but could see no one else. They were both looking at her, momentarily silent, and Cat could only stare back at them open mouthed. Hoster spoke first. His voice was tense.

'Get back to bed Cat. Now.'

She knew that tone, although she had not heard it since she was a little girl. Normally, it would have invited no argument except this time, she was still half groggy with sleep and confusion.

'What's going on?' she demanded, standing her ground. Hoster raised an eyebrow, although didn't shout. Cat realised his anger wasn't directed at her. She looked back at the stranger but could not place his face. He was tall, bloodied and torn. His clothes were ripped and dirty, and he was bleeding from a wound to his face and another to his arm. A vicious looking bruise covered most of his jaw and cheek. He had one of their dishcloths held tight against himself to try and stem the bleeding from his arm. Cat found herself becoming irrationally annoyed at that. Then, suddenly, he was looking at her and she saw his eyes for the first time.

'Brandon!?'

Hoster moved towards her, pushing the boy aside.

'Cat, I mean it. Go back to bed. I don't want you involved.'

Cat looked from her father to the Stark boy, and back again. She could feel her father trying to push her out of the room but she wouldn't let herself be moved.

'He's bleeding all over the kitchen!' she said shrilly. For some reason, it seemed important.

Brandon looked at her apologetically.

'I'm sorry Cat. But your dad's right. You don't need to be involved.'

Hoster shot him a dark look.

'You should have thought about that before you arrived on my doorstep, covered in blood.'

She could see Brandon meant to say something but he held his tongue, hanging his head instead. She took hold of her father's hands and slowly removed them from her shoulders.

'I think it's a bit late to send me back to bed now. Look, let me fix him up properly.'

Hoster let her go. She went quickly to one of the drawers and rummaged for a minute before producing a first aid kit.

'Sit.'

Brandon sat obediently. The wound on his head was only small, although it was bleeding a lot. She cleaned it with an antiseptic wipe and put a small dressing on it, although she knew it would probably need sutures. The injury to his arm was more severe. As Cat cleaned it, she could tell it was a gunshot wound. It didn't seem to have done too much damage but the bullet had not gone all the way through.

'He needs the hospital' she said as she wound fresh bandages tightly around him. 'The bullet needs to be taken out.'

Brandon winched as she worked.

'I can't go yet. I'll be alright for now. Thank you.'

Hoster had taken a seat at the other side of the counter, where he would normally eat his breakfast. He ran his hands though his greying hair. Cat cleaned up the blood from the floor and the rest of the work surfaces in silence.

'How did this happen?' she said eventually. Brandon looked away again, rubbing his hand gingerly over his wound.

'Robert did something stupid' he began. 'He shot someone, and he got my brothers involved. I was trying to help them clean up when people showed up.'

Hoster groaned from behind them.

'Where are the Baratheons now?' he said crisply. Brandon swallowed and shook his head.

'I don't know. I ran after I got shot. There were too many of them. Robert and Renly were making for the door, I know that. I had his gun. He had no way to defend himself….'

He trailed off and Cat realised he felt guilty. She put a reassuring hand on his arm.

'I know I hit a few of them' Brandon went on. 'They were running after us, but I couldn't say how many were left. I'm sorry Hoster, I shouldn't have come but I was miles from the house, miles from any one I could call a friend. I made sure I lost them before I came here.'

Her father was still dressed, Cat saw. He obviously had not long been home. He stood now, his face grim.

'I have to go' he said solemnly. 'We need to cut this off before it goes any further.' Brandon stood also but Hoster raised his hand.

'Not you' he said angrily. 'You've done enough. I need to go and see Aerys now, before this gets out of hand. Hopefully he'll listen to me. Ring your father, tell him what's happened and tell him to come as well. If Roberts still alive, and if he's got any sense, he'll keep his head down until the grown ups have sorted this mess out.'

Brandon sat down again, looking dejected. Hoster kissed his daughter gently on the cheek, whispering to her as he did so.

'Keep the door locked. Don't open it for anyone. Call your uncle Brynden and tell him put a watch on the building. I have no idea where your sister is. If you can reach her, tell her to go somewhere safe and keep her distance.'

Cat nodded and followed him to the door, bolting it behind him. The next hour or so was spent sharing the phone between them as they made various calls. Cat left the room when Brandon called his father, but could still hear snatches of conversation through the door. It did not sound pleasant. She couldn't reach Lysa. Her cell went to voicemail at every attempt. For the first time in her life, she hoped she was with Petyr. At least she could trust him to keep her out of harms way.

It was nearing 4am by the time they were done. Cat found Brandon sitting quietly in the kitchen, still nursing his arm carefully. The blood had soaked through all his bandages. She filled the kettle and put out two mugs. While the water boiled, she took out the first aid box again.

'No, don't worry. I'm fine' Brandon protested as she reached to remove the dressings. Cat smiled at him but shook her head.

'I've just cleaned the kitchen' she said pragmatically. 'I don't want to do it again. Hold still.'

She unwrapped the bandages slowly, revealing tender and bloody skin as she did so. Beside her face, she could feel Brandon's sharp breathing as she worked. The exposed skin along her neck shivered.

'Nearly done' she said absently, more to herself than to him. When she glanced up, he was looking away from her, down at his arm. She studied him for a moment. She knew Rickard Stark from her childhood. He and her father were close friends. Brandon looked so much like his father, it was uncanny, and yet really his face was almost unknown to her. She realised that she knew very little about any of the Stark siblings, other than rumour.

He moved and she let go of him quickly, embarrassed to be staring. The kettle had boiled and she turned away hurriedly. The silence between them seemed strangely awkward and she didn't know why.

'Are you feeling better?'

'Much. Thanks. I'll get to the hospital as soon as your dad says its ok.'

'Ok. You need to. You're lucky it's only a flesh wound.'

'Yeah. It could have been a lot worse.'

'You didn't mention your brothers…. Were they there?'

'At the beginning, but I sent them away. They were gone by the time the trouble started.'

'Good.'

Cat took another sip. Her body felt tired but her mind was awake, and it danced around from thought to thought. The awkwardness seemed to be melting with every passing minute though, and for that she was thankful.

'I heard you were seeing a girl from South Beach? Couldn't you have gone to her?'

Brandon flexed his wounded arm and wriggled his fingers.

'Barbary? She's a friend, but I wouldn't feel comfortable putting her in this situation. She hasn't got the protection you have. Hoster… Well, I needed help. She couldn't have done much.'

Amid all the other words, Cat singled out one.

'A friend?' Nothing serious then?'

Brandon smiled, the first genuine smile she had seen from him all evening. She felt foolish then, as though he had worked her out.

'Just a friend. A good friend, but we aren't tied down to one another if that's what you mean.'

Cat straightened herself and gave her head a little mental shake. The boy was a virtual stranger to her, bleeding over her kitchen, putting her family in danger. She had no business feeling anything warm towards him.

'I'm going to sit in the front room' she said briskly. 'It's more comfortable. If you want to lie down, there's a spare bed, but try not to sleep. You've lost a lot of blood.'

She set down her cup and made to walk to the doorway, her gaze fixed resolutely on her goal. As she passed him, something touched her on the arm.

He was standing. His fingers closed gently around her bare arm.

'Thank you' he said again. Some blood was still left on his cheek, and a little more by the corner of his mouth.

'It's fine' she heard herself say. 'It was nothing really.'

She could feel each individual finger tip on her skin as his hand encircled her arm. He held lightly but she could feel the threat of pressure under his touch and it made her pulse quicken. She could have easily broken free. Instead she kept her eyes on his and tried to read him. His expression was not well hidden.

With his other hand, the injured one, he reached up to the curve of her back, just above her waistband. The light pyjama top she wore had ridden up a little, exposing a circle of skin above her hips. His hand sat there delicately, finger tips at first and then slowly spreading out until his palm was flat against her.

Her arms, that had felt so useless a second ago, rose up at his touch. They hovered for a moment in front of her, fingers curled and hesitant. He moved, pulling her to him and filling the empty space that had been between them. Her hands met his chest, and slowly opened up. A jolt ran from her neck down to the base of her spine, catching like a flame.

He lent towards her, his eyes on her mouth. She watched until the very last second, until she felt his breath brush her lips. As her eyes closed, a small groan escaped her and his fingers tightened on her in response. With infinite cruelty, she felt his lips just graze her own. She could taste a hint of blood. Her fingers wrapped themselves up in the fabric of his top, and she pulled him closer, sharply. Her mouth opened for him eagerly and their tongues met, hungrily exploring each other. His hands moved quickly under her top, skimming across the bare skin up her back and moving around to cup her breasts. Lightly, his thumb grazed her nipple and she moaned again, pushing herself closer to him. She could feel him hard against her and she smiled ruefully. He laughed softly and she kissed him again.

There was a noise from somewhere outside – a car passing maybe, gone before she had really heard it. But it was enough to make her stop. She pulled away from him so fast, she nearly slipped.

Brandon was laughing again, although not unkindly. She was annoyed to see that he was making no move to hide his state of arousal. She pulled her arms up over her chest and glowered at him, as though he had somehow pulled a trick on her.

'I didn't mean for that to happen' she said defiantly. 'I hardly know you. That was wrong.'

'Well that's a shame, because I meant it to happen' said Brandon brightly. 'Don't get me wrong, I hadn't planned any of this tonight, and if I had, I certainly wouldn't have gotten myself shot to do it. But I meant to kiss you.'

Cat kept her arms folded and lent back against the door frame, pursing her lips. The taste of him lingered on her mouth. She felt that flicker in her stomach again.

'We're tired, emotional and one of us has lost a lot of blood. We're not thinking straight' she said simply. She half believed it.

Brandon shrugged.

'Ok, I'm sorry if I misread the situation. But I do like you Cat.'

Despite herself, she found joy in that simple sentence. When he moved closer to her again, she did not back away.

'And you're right, you do hardly know me' Brandon said.' I think I'd like to change that.'

He touched her arm again, in the same soft manner he had done before. Cat looked at him, at the blood on his clothes and seeping through the bandages. She thought about her father, and where he was, and bodyguards sitting watch outside the door.

'Yes. Perhaps I'd like that too. But let's get through tonight first.'


	13. Chapter 13

 

Elia.

She had insisted that she be present, and had been surprised when Aerys had not put up much argument. _Perhaps he wants a big audience._

The meeting had been long and loud; Aerys had paced back and forth across the room like a vicious animal, snarling when anyone spoke and spitting venom. He had bayed for blood and for a good while, Elia was sure he would have it.

Her husband had sat in virtual silence throughout. She had been relaying on him to be on the side of reason, but instead, it had been up to her, Rickard and Hoster to calm Aerys down from the brink of war.

She felt it had been a little unfair to lay all the blame solely on the Baratheon boy. She had met him only a handful of times, and he had seemed a charismatic and headstrong young man who no doubt could act foolishly. But if they were to spread the blame across all participants, it meant implicating the Starks and, by association, the Tullys as well. To Aerys, that would equal a full on assault from his three most powerful allies and he could not have been talked down from that. Better isolate the cause to one individual, and paper over the rest.

Elia had been impressed by the older men; Hoster had been calm and rational, even in the face of vicious personal attacks. Rickard had been equally stoic, and borne the tirade with dignity. The boy was upset, they said. He had lost nearly everything, and felt that he had somehow let Aerys down. He had been driven by sadness, and the other man had goaded him. He was defending himself, and the dead man's friends attacked him when he was unarmed. Elia wondered how much of that was true.

The problem, as always, had lain with the unsmiling man in the corner. Tywin had spoken only a few times throughout the whole night, and had never raised his voice, but every time he opened his mouth he managed to undo all the work the others had done. Elia had watched his cool, green eyes for any sign of emotion but the man was like a statue. In the end, it almost seemed as if he got bored with the whole thing and let them win Aerys over. Elia felt very uneasy. He could just as easily change his mind again and whisper something when no one else was here to counter it. She had seen him do it before.

The sun was well and truly risen by the time they all left. Aerys was tired but satisfied. They had stoked his vanity enough to make him believe Robert had acted out of grief at losing his trust. He would not punish the boy, but neither would be given him back his contracts. There had to be some kind of consequence. It was a tentative truce though, Elia could feel it. It hung on gossamer threads high above them.

'You would have let your father have the Baratheon boy killed' she said bluntly, when she and Rheager were alone. 'If we hadn't spoken up, he and the Lannisters would have had that boys hide.'

Rhaegar looked at her briefly before returning to his tea.

'Robert is an animal' he said coldly. 'He acted like an idiot, and he would have deserved it.'

'And what then? It wouldn't have ended there and you know it.'

'Robert could have done with taking down a peg or two' Rhaegar was saying carelessly. 'He thinks he can just take what he wants.'

Elia took the seat opposite him, unwilling to let her point drop.

'I don't care about Robert. But I do care what it would have led to. Your father is on a knife edge.'

Her concerns had doubled in the last few weeks. Aerys had taken to locking himself in his rooms for most of the day. He would only meet with Tywin there, and he hadn't been seen in the restaurant for days. Strangely worded messages came from the room, scribbled on pieces of paper and shoved in to a maid's hand. He had been making long, secretive phone calls and had sent Tywin out of the city for a few days for no apparent reason. They were forever whispering. Rhaella walked around the building in silence, her eyes always red and vicious purple bruises becoming ever more visible under her brightly coloured dresses.

'Please Rhaegar.'

He gave her a small smile but it was far from reassuring. She wondered if he really understood just how nervous she was. Prosecution was the least of her worries for them now. Prison might even be safer.

'You and the children will always be ok' he said, idly. 'He would never hurt you. Not his own family.'

Elia thought about Rhaella and felt no better.

Later, when the children were in bed, she thought about her options. She had always hidden the worse of Aerys away from Oberyn; a fact that shamed her still. But he would not have understood and he was so hot headed. He would have marched down to Miami and caused havoc. Still, even with half the truth untold, he often urged her to come back to California. Her marriage was dead in the water, he said. There was nothing keeping her there. She was sorely tempted.

But there was something in her that balked at the idea of running away. Maybe Rhaegar could give up on his future so casually, but she couldn't. She had moved across the country for him, left her friends and family behind, and married in to a world she had never dreamed she would be part of. When Rhaegar asked her to marry him the first time, she had turned him down. It was such a big decision she had needed time to properly think about it. But once she had made it, she was determined to stick by it. Elia had always found that the promises she made to herself were the most difficult to brake.

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

Jaime.

There was a club in Liberty City, tucked away down an alley and far away from the sun soaked tourists at the beach front. The sign advertising its name was long broken, but its patrons knew where to find it well enough. It was not particularly interested in attracting new customers.

Jaime had taken a seat on one of the unstable barstools, his back to the darkened room beyond and the girls dancing under pink neon. It was nearing 2 in the afternoon but they already had quite a sizable audience in attendance. Jaime had recognised quite a few of them when he walked in, although they had done their best to hide from his gaze. Some of them were his father's men - the ones who looked the most nervous - but Jaime just smiled quietly and left them to their discomfort.

There were better bars he could be drinking in, ones with better whisky and prettier girls and no suspicious stains on the floor. But as well as the fact that he was enjoying making the others feel uncomfortable, Jaime was quickly becoming charmed by this particular dive. It was quiet for one, and everybody kept their distance. There were not many places Jaime could go to without being stopped by someone wanting something – his time, his phone number, his father's favour. It was so normal to him now that being left alone like this made him feel a little uneasy. It was not a wholly terrible sensation though, and he was slowly becoming comfortable with it. He knew that he would need to slink back in to the city soon enough, to bask in the familiar warmth of his notoriety once again.

Addam had left him to his drink and his solitude nearly an hour ago. The owner owed Aerys money, and their business with him had been concluded rather swiftly. The state of his face told Jaime that this was not the first time he had been asked to pay the debt. He suspected Gregor's handy work. That would explain the slight tremor in the man's hand when he gave them the cash, and the glimmer of fear in his bruised, swollen eyes. It was not the way Jaime preferred to operate, and he had been a little annoyed that he had been sent to scrape up after Clegane.

He had thought that these little games would have kept him satisfied for longer. Over the last month he had been to more booze soaked strip clubs, dimly lit porn shops and sad looking brothels than had had thought possible. There were parts of the city that he realised had only ever exsisted to him in a metaphorical sense before. He had known they were there; he had seen them on the news, had heard the maids talk about them, caught a snatch of an accent that just didn't quite belong. But when he found himself standing in another dead hearted building in another unfriendly neighbourhood, thick with the stench of life and the living, he found that reality kept hitting him in the face. People lived quickly here, Jaime had learned. They tended to die quickly too.

One of the dancers slipped up beside him, allowing her near-naked body to press briefly against his arm as she leant across to get the attention of the barman. When she caught Jaime's eye, she smiled prettily and gave a wink. Her body was lean and looked enticingly agile, and glittered slightly under a thin lick of sweat. She was thinner than Cersei, and her skin was a shade or two darker. He met her wink with a nod but turned away from her, back to his drink. From the corner of his eye, he saw her shrug and walk away. He heard a throaty chuckle.

'She don't talk much, you would have liked that.'

Sandor may have been sat there the whole time, he couldn't be sure. The boy had a habit of slinking around in shadows. He was hunched over a beer, his black hair hiding most of his face, shaking quietly as he continued to chuckle.

Jaime raised his drink in greeting.

'Aren't you a little young to be in an establishment like this?' he asked. Sandor shrugged and took a swig from his bottle nonchalantly.

'Aren't you?'

Jaime conceded the point.

'Well then you're definitely too young to know that she doesn't talk much.'

Sandor may have smiled, but it was too dim to tell.

'No one's too young if they have the money.'

Jaime was once again aware of another strange reality creeping its way in to his own; another way of existing that he had never had to consider before. Not for the first time since starting on this little endeavour, he felt a pang of something approaching guilt. He pushed it back in to the dark echo from which it had sprung.

'Buy you another?' he said, by way of a distraction. Sandor had nearly finished his beer and he nodded silently. Jaime brought another round and moved to sit nearer to the boy, who accepted the bottle with a grunt. They drank nearly half of their beers before either one of them spoke again, and it was Sandor who broke their silence first.

'Is it what you thought it would be, all this?'

'I hadn't thought about it all that much.'

'Don't lie.'

'Alright, I suppose then yes. In some ways.'

'Still lying.'

'Oh really?'

'Maybe you don't know you are. But you are. No one would do this job if they expected it to be like this.'

Jaime looked out across the club, and he could see the air moving across it like a murky soup. There was a ripe smell about it, stale and fresh in equal parts. Sweat, piss, blood, booze, smoke. Not one person was smiling. Beside him, Sandor was flexing his hand slowly. In the half light, the silver white scars across his knuckles were just visible.

'This is just the way it goes, at first. Everyone has to pay their dues.'

Sandor's laugh rattled.

'And then what? You think Selmy doesn't get his hands dirty whenever his boss asks him to? You think Dayne put up his gun when he took the bodyguard job? You think any of them are any better than us, scrabbling around in the gutter?'

He finished his drink with a long swallow and laughed again, short and sharp.

'Well maybe not you. You're connected. Maybe Aerys will raise you up to his side, and you'll put away your gun and make him see the error of his ways. Maybe you'll be the one to change all this, and bring back all those people he had killed, or maimed or raped for a reason he can't even remember any more. Maybe you'll do wonderful things. But then again, maybe you won't.'

Jaime wanted to argue. He could feel the words hot in his throat, and knew already what he would say to every one of his ridiculous points, but they just hung there silently instead. He looked at Sandor, and the scars that littered his body from face to fingers. He remembered the little sister who was gone, and the dancer who didn't say much but had taken his money. He looked at the empty beer bottles on the bar.

'You're wrong' was all he said.

 


	15. 15

Brandon.

His arm was stiff, even in the heat. At night, the pain would wake him if he accidentally rolled on it. The wound was deep and would throb constantly, but he supposed that just meant it was healing. He rolled over and buried his face in the abundance of soft, messy hair next to him. She smelled of flowers and candle smoke and burned sugar. He inhaled deeply and ran a finger along the bare skin of her shoulder, hoping to wake her. He could hear her soft, rhythmic breathing and he was sure she had fallen asleep. The night was still young and he was not yet tired.

She gave a soft moan and he felt himself harden almost instantly. If she had been asleep, it had clearly not been too deeply. She rolled over to face him, wrapping herself in the sheets as she did so. Her eyes were brilliant purple and they sparkled impishly at him over the edge of the covers. The next words out of her mouth, however, were not the ones he had hoped to hear.

'I should go.'

Brandon pouted dramatically and gently pushed her hair from her face, his hand lingering on her cheek.

'Stay. Stay the whole night. I'll drive you home in the morning.'

Ashara smiled but did not move any closer to him.

'No, you need your rest. Your arm is still bad.'

The pain was dull and constant, like toothache and just as annoying. He would have powered through it though, if she had been willing.

'It's fine. I hardly feel it' he lied. Even as he lay still he could feel it throbbing. She raised her eyebrow knowingly.

'If I stay, you'll get bored of me. I prefer to leave you wanting more.'

There was a cold grain of truth in her words, Brandon knew. Rather than respond, he gathered her face up in his hands and kissed her instead. She kissed him back for a short while, before pulling away and rising from the bed. She took the sheets with her, her body hidden under swathes of fabric. Brandon was left bare and naked, sprawled out in his bed.

The house was empty save for the two of them. His father was at the hotel and his brothers were with him. Since the shooting, Rickard had taken to keeping his younger sons close to him. There was always some work to be done, some task to keep them busy. The more mundane, the better, it seemed. Neither Ned nor Benjen would complain though. Lyanna was off somewhere too, he couldn't say where exactly. She had left early that morning, saying something about driving up the coast. She often liked to disappear for a few hours, maybe even a day, without telling anyone. It drove their father mad, and Brandon was starting to share those fears.

He lay in the bed for a little longer, listening to the sound of the shower. He briefly considered slipping quietly in to the bathroom and joining her in there. The thought made him smile broadly, although it was easy to see how that situation would end. Ashara was like the most perfect flower; beautiful, fragile, liable to break if he held her too tightly. It was too easy to make her blush, and that really was a shame.

He dressed unhurriedly, pulling on jeans and a crumpled t-shirt. It was too early to go to sleep, and he felt restless. Ashara was right. She was indeed leaving him wanting more.

 

He drove the long way back. He considered stopping in a bar but there had been a sting in the air ever since the shooting, and everywhere he looked nowadays he saw Targaryen men. A lesser man might start feeling paranoid.

'Trouble will find us now, one way or another' Rickard had said gravely. 'So don't you go looking for it. I won't have them say we fired first.'

Brandon had found it difficult to heed his father's words. He resented having to stalk around the city like a hunted animal, forever watching his back. He saw their vicious little eyes wherever he looked. It would be so easy to smash those smug little smiles clean from their jaws. It set his teeth on edge to think about it, and his fingers flexed unconsciously, pulling at an invisible trigger.

For now at least, he had to find distractions elsewhere. Barbary had gotten wise to that game soon enough, and had seemed to have taken offense – or so the welt above his eye testified. He still winched involuntarily whenever he thought of her. Ashara had been more pliable, but her pillow talk left a lot to be desired. He did not want to hear about her brother the bodyguard and his ever more absent employer, the young Targaryen He did not want to hear about his sad little wife either and the shame of their crumbling marriage. He cared so little for that family that he could not bring himself to find pleasure even in their unhappiness. He did find a brief thrill in imagining what the great Arthur Dayne would say if he knew what he was doing to his pretty little sister, but that thought lost its shine quick enough.

And then of course, there was Cat. He had not spoken to her since that night, bloodied and torn in her father's house. He had taken her phone number when he left, and had told himself to ring her soon. But then days had turned in to a week, and then another. It seemed stupid to call her now. He remembered what she said after she'd kissed him.

' _We're tired and emotional, and one of us has lost a lot of blood.'_

Best to leave it lie. She would probably be thankful for it. He remembered the way she had cleaned up the kitchen. She did not seem like the kind of girl who would stand for any mess, and Brandon had learnt that he often liked to make a mess.

When he got back home, he found Lyanna at the kitchen table, eating from a bag of chips under the solitary glow of a side light. Her clothes were crumbled, and she smelt of salt and sand. Her shoes were flung against the patio doors, and he could see she had left a damp trail of footprints along the stones before she had entered the house.

'You can't keep doing this' he said reproachfully, carefully reaching for a chip as he sat down next to her. In response, she pulled the bag back with a snap, out of his reach.

'I went to the beach' she answered dryly - somewhat redundantly Brandon thought, given the sand and sea water footprints that littered the floor.

'Alone?' he continued, undeterred. She gave him a dead pan stare.

'Yes' she answered shortly. 'What's with all the questions?'

Brandon reached for the bag again and took a chip.

'It's dangerous. You can't just disappear all day anymore. Not since your boyfriend decided to act like a complete asshole.'

'Not my boyfriend' she glowered, taking back the bag yet again and putting it out of his reach. Under the soft light, her expression was half hidden in shadow and her messy hair. She was sat with one foot up on her chair, so that she could rest her chin on her bare knee. She had had her nose pierced last year – to the horror of their father – but Brandon thought it suited her in an odd little way. The tiny gem twinkled as she moved and gave her elfin features a magical glint. At times like this, she looked her age - still young in Brandon's eyes. So often, she was confused for the oldest child, a woman already and knowing so much. She would use it to her advantage without shame, and even Brandon would sometimes forget that she was still his little sister. He liked her best as she was now.

When she spoke again, she sounded almost sad.

'I was so stupid back then' she said softly. 'You can't force something that isn't there. Robert will never understand that. Love isn't a fight.'

Brandon had to smile now.

'What do we know about what love is?' he laughed, as a thought came to him unbidden, about a girl with blue eyes and a cup of coffee. Lyanna smiled wistfully.

'I know it's more than who can hit the hardest, or shout the loudest. It's not something that you win.'

She unfurled herself from the chair, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

'I'm going to bed' she said as she stood, and Brandon watched her go. She left the room with the hint of a song on her lips, hanging behind her like an echo.

 


	16. 16

Cat.

There were too many people for the room, and they moved around her with voices raised in shallow laughter and mock happiness. Her dress was tight, and dug in to her under her arms. She had not remembered it being so uncomfortable. Her hair felt stiff, piled up at the back of her head and made to yield under lashings of hairspray. She didn't like the feel of air across her exposed neck.

But the room glittered. There were diamonds at every turn, strewn from chandeliers to wrists. Light glinted from the crystal glasses and platters that bobbed and weaved amongst the guests; a trail of sliver like the sun on an ocean. Music played, too soft to interfere with conversation, too loud to be ignored. The smell was of lemon, spice, fish, chocolate, orchids. All sweet, all delicious, and yet together it cloyed and made her feel overwhelmed. All the elements for a fine party were present, and yet nothing about it felt fun.

Beside her, Edmure was consuming alcohol with the look of a man determined to get drunk. Cat could not blame him. She reached for one of the bobbing trays as it passed and took another glass for herself, ignoring the disapproval radiating from their father.

Lysa had made her escape quickly. Hoster had been unable to ban Petyr from the evening for fear of offending their Targaryen host, but he had ensured that he arrived separately from them and much, much later. Nevertheless, as soon as she had spotted him, Lysa had darted away from her family, in to the seething mass. She was lost now, just another head in the crowd, giggling somewhere at his terrible jokes.

Cat had told no one about the encounter in the office, and she suspected neither had he. If Hoster knew, then there would have been no qualms about offending Aerys. A small part of her felt angry that she had kept quiet, and had continued to gnaw at her relentlessly ever since she made her decision. But she could see no good coming from that road; Lysa would never forgive her. She had heard that he had passed off the bruise to his face as the result of a drunken accident. Some truth in that, at least.

Their host had made a brief appearance, but she had not seen him clearly. A bent figure somewhere at the other end of the room, grey and jabbering, surrounded by silent men. She had not really heard what he had said, but the sense of relief when he had exited had almost been physical. He had left his own birthday party early, putting it in the hands of his son and daughter-in-law. The younger Targaryen had made more of an effort, circulating along with the plates, smiling and keeping the chatter friendly. Nevertheless, no one seemed completely able to relax. Cat felt as if they were all in the jaws of a beast, trying to keep it placated so that it didn't slam shut on them.

She had made some preliminary scans of the room when they first arrived, and continued to do so at irregular little intervals, but had not found what she was looking for. She chided herself after every search, and returned to her drink with a renewed resolve, determined to not look again. The pattern was becoming monotonous and was starting to rub.

That was until she saw a dark haired girl with wolf grey eyes making her way across the room. Her dress was a simple, unfussy affair; charcoal silk with a hint of lace around her shoulders and at the hem. There was only one jewel on her - a little pale sapphire hanging on a chain around her neck. She had let her hair fall casually down her back, tousled and loose as though she had barely even thought about it. Cat immediately envied her that carelessness. Nearby, she recognised more of her kin. The sullen, dark young man who was the youngest. With him, the father – the only one she was confident of knowing – suited in expensive navy and grey with silver hair slicked back. And behind him, a man tall and quiet, messy hair and watchful eyes. For a moment, her stomach lurched dangerously, but when he turned around properly she saw it was only Eddard. _Strange_ she thought.  _I never found them that alike before._  She corrected herself.  _No, he is shorter and not so broad. His hair is flecked with dark blond. His brother is dark all the way through._

Her disappointment was both an annoyance and thrill. She looked away and tried to make herself busy with other thoughts. Slipping away from under the sight of her brother and father, on the hunt for distractions, she squeezed carefully past the other guests to a hitherto unexplored area of the ballroom. The faces around her were both familiar and strange. She knew their names, what buildings they owned, where they lived, and could probably make a fairly accurate guess at what they earned. Yet she didn't know the sound of their laugh, or what their favourite drink was. Names and reputations- these were the ways in which she had been taught to measure people. It had always left her with a very incomplete picture.

Several of them came to speak to her; some were pleasant and made her smile, some were just barely formal, as though speaking to her were a necessity to be completed quickly. She was used to both. Besides, she  _was_  kind of an obligation. Tonight, she was one of many obligations, all of which had to be acknowledged unless someone's sense of propriety was put out of place.

Eventually, she found herself a friendly face. Jon Arryn offered her an arm and she accepted it greedily. He led her towards the front of the room, where couples were dancing gracefully in the open space. He took her gently by the waist and began to move her out across the floor. He smelt like leather, and fresh air.

'Enjoying yourself, my dear?' he spoke with a warm smile. Cat returned it with a grin of her own.

'Well enough. I'm nearly ready to leave though.'

Jon chuckled and swept her round in an elegant twirl.

'I've been thinking that myself. I wondered how much longer I had to stay before my leaving would not cause offense.'

'I think everyone is the same' admitted Cat, surveying the room as they moved. They were all still laughing, all still fake.

'No one wants to be the first to leave. You know Aerys will hear about it.'

Jon leant in closer, so he could lower his voice.

'Tywin has left his employment. Is your father aware?'

The news was a shock to her. She tried to keep it from her expression.

'He hasn't said. Why did Tywin leave?'

'I don't know the details, but it was not an amicable split by all accounts. I will speak to Hoster soon, when there are less eyes on us.'

'What does this mean?'

'I don't know yet, but I can't pretend that I'm not a little worried.'

He withdrew from her, leaving any more questions she might have had hanging unsaid.

'We all have to play the game' said Jon solemnly. 'It's a dance. Luckily, I have a very lovely dance partner.'

Cat laughed lightly as he twirled her again. It was almost like the beginnings of fun.

'Although, I do feel a little cruel keeping you to myself when there are so many younger men eager to take my place.'

Cat looked around confused and he must have seen her expression because he laughed again, not unkindly.

'My dear, you are always so surprised when someone pays you a compliment. You look beautiful tonight, and it is not going unnoticed.'

Cat felt the need to protest; she had never felt uncomfortable receiving compliments. It's just that she was unaccustomed to hearing them from people outside her immediate family. Instead, she gave a sharp little smile.

'I'm sure you're right. But they will have to wait. I'm dancing with a friend.'

As Jon smiled, his eyes wrinkled. His skin was a rich, sunburnt brown. It made his hair and beard appear even more like silver.

'Then it is up to me to be the gallant. I insist you break off with me and take that young man over there for a spin instead.'

Amid the twirls, Cat looked quickly back out in to the crowd, a secret hope taking a quick hold in the pit of her. As they moved, grey eyes caught hers. The dip in her stomach became a sudden knot, and she searched for him again, being forever spun frustratingly away. But those eyes were not the right shade of grey. He was a Stark but not the right one. Once again, her disappointment made her angry.

'Just one dance' said Jon, with a strange glint in his eye. 'Ever since that business in the warehouse, he's has been even more sullen than usual. Cheer him up.'

Cat shrugged and allowed herself to be manoeuvred towards the boy that was not Brandon. As Jon graciously extended her hand out towards him, Cat smiled politely and led him to the dance floor. He took hold of her awkwardly, his arms too stiff and his hands too rigid. She kept her smile though, even as she found herself beginning to do the leading.

It took a little coaxing in order to make him talk. Cat had to hold herself back from asking about his brother, or the warehouse – the only two things she could think of that they had in common – but they managed to conjure up some small talk eventually.

_His eyes looked darker before_ she found herself noticing.  _They were like stone and now they look like mist._

When the music ended and he let her go, she felt the loss of his strange, rigid hands and realised she had been staring. When he smiled, it was such an unexpected surprise that she could only grin back.

Over her shoulder, a voice interrupted them.

'Can I steal you away?'

 


	17. 17

Elia.

She worried that she had made too much of an effort. The dress was new and a departure from everything she usually chose. It clung to her at hip and thigh, and dipped daringly at her cleavage. It was a rich, sunflower colour though, which made her skin glow copper and honey. It reminded her of the yellow house, and California, and Oberyn. It gave her strength.

When it came to choosing her jewellery, she had picked conservatively. The dress was statement enough, and she already felt like an overdone Christmas tree. Besides, she had spotted the little navy box on his bedside table, with the distinctive crest stamped in its lid.

It had been two days ago. She had made an effort to make sure their schedules had crossed, and eventually they had. When he came in to his bedroom at the hotel that night, she had been waiting for him. She had been soft and willing and he had not rejected her, but their night had been a largely silent affair - physical contact limited to the light brush of arm to arm as they lay next to one another. Elia could not bring herself to start a conversation, afraid to break whatever delicate truce had fallen between them. She was instead content to just share his bed for the time being. When he left her there in the morning, she didn't feel so alone.

It was then that she had spotted it, sitting just out of sight on his side of the bed. She had stolen it to her, opened it under the covers, and looked at furtively in the half light. They were sapphires, a hundred shades of ocean and sky, encircled with diamonds. Earrings again but still, she couldn't fault him for being consistent.

There were no birthdays imminent– unless he planned to give them to his father. They had not argued for weeks, so he had nothing to made amends for. She could only assume he had picked up on her recent attempts to build bridges, and her stomach had dipped with the giddy rush of what it might mean. She was sure he would present them to her tonight. She would kiss him in front of everyone, and there would be no mistake. And later, she would come to his bed again.

She was attempting not to drink too much. It would have been the easy option, to drown her insecurity in alcohol, but she could not afford to have a fuzzy head at these kinds of events. There were far too many people she needed to be polite to; even more she had to be careful with. Aerys had left with characteristic promptness and Rhaegar had only a marginally higher love for this kind of thing than his father. One year, Elia had suggested that maybe they just skip the whole night, seeing as neither of them wanted to be there. It had been met with cold silence.

Someone had refreshed her drink without her looking. She realised with a start that she had lost the thread of the conversation they were having, and quickly made her excuses before her error was discovered. She slipped away, steeling herself from the inside, trying to keep her focus. The night was young. She had more of this to come.

At her shoulder, the ghost moved silently in time with her steps, never more than an arms reach away from her. Elia did not know this one well. When Aerys had told her she would be having a new escort for tonight, she had met his words with laughter. The boy was too young, surely? And besides, his father had forbidden any of his offspring from attending. Tywin had left the city with a rage that Elia had never witnessed before, and by all accounts was making for New York. Elia was not sad for that. Rhaegar would have his father's ear now, and together they could begin to heal the wounds Aerys had inflicted on this city. She had seen what he had done to Illyn Payne, and it had made her heart beat cold. His time was surely ending. It was Rhaegar's time to rise.

Of course, once she had taken a moment to think about it, the strings behind this latest decision were all too obvious. She had even felt a passing sympathy for the young Lannister at first, until she had actually seen him and the hungry smile he had given her.

'Can you see my husband?' she asked the ghost absently. She and Jaime had kept their interactions brief, through mutual agreement. She was glad that he at least appeared to be taking his new responsibility seriously. His green eyes were constantly sweeping the room.

She felt the touch of his arm at her elbow and allowed herself to be turned silently to where he was looking. Rhaegar had his back to them, surrounded by the usual swarm that kept him company at events like this. She could tell from his stance that he had given up trying to listen to any of them, and his attention was held by the two men that stood closest to him. She gave her dress a quick adjustment, took a mouthful from her glass, and walked to them. They did not part for her as she approached.

'Can I tempt you with a dance?' she asked, gently laying a hand on his back. Rhaegar turned to her, but still did not move aside to allow her entry in to his little circle. She kept her hand on him, pressing a little harder, insistently. He moved aside and she slipped in between him and the other men. She was met with cool silence.

Dayne smiled pleasantly but the expression did not seem to stretch to his eyes. Still, it was sweet nectar in comparison to the meagre meal offered by his companion. Connington regarded her as if she had walked in on him naked ; a mix of outrage and defiance.  _He's daring me to try and pull Rhaegar away_ she thought. Filled with her newly found confidence, she smiled brightly at the pair of them and let her arm move from her husband's back, down his arm.  _This is mine_ she thought sweetly.  _I am his, and he is mine. We swore a vow, and I mean to honour it._

'Darling?'

She looked up to him and met his eye, for the first time sure that he was absolutely looking at her. They had been circling around each other all evening, and he may have caught of glimpse of her from across the room, but here and now was the first certain look. She searched for some flicker in his gaze, some register. She hoped for lust, love, longing. She would have settled for surprise, curiosity or mild approval. His hand rose, and rested at the small of her back, strange and familiar all at once. She felt the contact of his fingers on the silken fabric of her dress and delighted in the intimacy of the touch. He would hold her like this as they danced, and she would blaze across the floor in a burst of sunlight. She smiled at him, expectantly.

There was a movement at the corner of his mouth, but it was so fleeting that she could not rely on it. And his hand was falling, falling, leaving her…

'Not tonight' he said simply, returning her smile with his own rough version of one. She could feel the circle already closing again in front of her, pushing her out. She stood her ground but nevertheless, in a moment she was once again outside, looking in.

 


	18. 18

Brandon.

He made sure to hold his arm in a slightly pained manner whenever Robert happened to be in eyesight. He was not sure if it was being taken notice of, but he continued to do it regardless. The wound itself was healing nicely, but the scar would remain. Brandon needed to remind him of that.

Robert had come alone, on Jon's advice. Too many Baratheons in the room might have pricked Aerys' paranoia, and their position remained tenuous. It had been his father's suggestion to have him arrive with the rest of the Starks. Brandon had made an attempt to argue but Rickard had shot him down quick enough. It would shown him in a good light, he said, to be in their company. Robert had taken this to mean that he would be escorting Lyanna, but her quick disappearance had put paid to that idea. Instead, he was left to haunt the edges of the room in a quiet, sullen manner. Although it gave Brandon no end of amusement, watching the boy stalk back and forth like a wounded animal made him feel uneasy too. A tray full of some pasty-based delicacy passed by, and he took a handful of them. Perhaps Ned could talk to him? He knew Jon had arrived by now too. Someone needed to distract him from all that prowling.

He tried to locate his younger brother, but Ned had vanished along with Lyanna. His father was talking solemnly to Howland Reed, but only Benjen was with him now. He sighed and decided to start moving.

He had noticed, somewhat happily, that people were keeping their distance from him. Infamy sat well with him, although he concluded that they were probably more scared of upsetting Aerys than they were of him. Robert was getting a similar treatment but then again, the fact that he was all but growling in the shadows might have had something to do with that.

Regardless of the reason, he found himself being able to move around the room almost unhindered. It was a great help, and he found that if he clutched his arm dramatically, people were even quicker to move.

His rambling brought him near the front of the room, where the dance floor had been set up. Couples moved in gentle harmony, hands creeping in to inappropriate places when they thought no one could see. A woman in gold was commanding much attention as she was wheeled across the floor by a tall, copper haired man whose features Brandon was vaguely familiar with. Ashara glowed in the half light, and seemed to be laughing, but the smile on her lips was polite and fixed. Brandon smiled, enjoying the sight of her gliding past, when he finally noticed Ned. His head was bobbing around in a strange, jerky manner. It appeared so strange that it took Brandon a moment to realise his younger brother was dancing. In a slow and ponderous manner, he spun and revealed his dance partner. Cat was laughing too, and her smile was broad. The sight of Ned's hand on her waist made his fingers clench in to a tight ball.

Before he could follow that feeling to its end, he was standing next to the dancers. Cats eyes were wide as he cut in between them and slid in front of his brother. Was it happiness he saw there? Or anger? More than likely, a mix of both. Before she had time to protest, he had her firmly in his hands and was leading her away, back in to the crowd of dancers. She looked as if she were about to speak, and he wasn't sure it was going to be something complimentary. He killed the words with a kiss, hard and warm. For a moment she yielded, and when her tongue touched his, he shuddered.

But it was only for a moment. In the next, she had pulled away from him and was leaving. He tried to catch her hand but she had moved too quickly. When he caught up to her, her expression was furious.

'Not even a hello?' she hissed, her blue eyes like an ocean storm 'You are a rude, arrogant idiot. How dare you!'

He tried to touch her again but she pulled her arm away like she had been scalded.

'You enjoyed it' was all he could think to say. Her insults had wounded him, and she was looking at him with such fierceness that he couldn't stand it. Still he knew he was right, she  _had_ enjoyed it, and he could see the resignation somewhere in her eyes. She folded her arms and sighed, her expression softening a little but not enough for him to try and touch her again.

'You never called' she said eventually. It was nothing short of an accusation, and she shot it at him like firing a gun.

'I haven't spoken to you for weeks, and then you think I can just kiss me like that, in front of everyone?'

Brandon couldn't be sure if it was the kiss she objected to or the audience. He hoped it was the latter. If he were honest, he already regretted his actions. It had been foolish and impulsive, and he was annoyed that he allowed himself to get so irrational. That was not the way with this one. Still, he could not bring himself to make an apology for it. He could not apologise for kissing her.

'I wanted to' he said in reply, moving as close as he dared so that he could whisper. 'But that night was so weird…I didn't know if you meant it.'

Her arms unfolded and fell to her side, close to his. He moved his hand slightly, so that the back of his hand touched hers. She did not move away.

'What a picture you two make! I should have my camera.'

Petyr was leaning at a strange angle, his mouth twisted in a strange half grin. The smell of alcohol was sharp on him, both from the copious amounts of aftershave he was wearing and the many drinks he had obviously consumed. His immaculate suit was crumpled a little at the throat and waist. Brandon snarled.

'This is a private conversation Littlefinger.'

The man laughed slowly and raised his eyebrow conspiratorially.

'Oh? That must be why you chose to have your little moment out there on the dance floor then, in private.'

Brandon had no time for this inconvenience, but he could see that alcohol had buoyed Petyr's already high confidence.

'Is this fool bothering you?' he asked, with the hint of a slur. Cat shook her head and answered tersely.

'Leave us Petyr. I'm fine.'

'Don't be like that little Cat. Not to me.'

He stumbled forward, reaching out to her with a pale and clammy hand. Brandon watched her reel backwards and caught his arm in mid-reach.

'The lady said she's fine' he said, pronouncing each word quite deliberately. It took Petyr a moment to realise why his arm had not reached its target. He gazed lopsidedly at Cat for a little longer before following Brandon's hand up to his arm and eventually his face. His cold eyes narrowed.

'Take your hand off me' he said quietly. 'I want to talk to Cat.'

Brandon did not let go.

'She doesn't want to talk to you. Now leave. Before I make you.'

The challenge made Petyr's eyes sparkle and he grinned.

'Oh really? Is this what you want Cat? A violent idiot? A man who threatens your friends?'

He spoke to Cat but he kept his eyes firmly on Brandon, although he had to look up to do so. Brandon tightened his grip but the other man did not flinch.

'You are no true friend' he said coldly.

Petyr laughed bitterly.

'I'm closer to her than you will ever be' he said. 'You're like a shiny new toy. It's attractive at first but she'll get bored by you soon enough. And even sooner once she realises what you're really like.'

'Oh? And what am I like?'

Petyr ran his tongue quickly along his grinning lips and glanced slyly back out in the crowd.

'Disloyal. Untrustworthy. A different woman in your bed every week. You can't keep to one, you don't know how. And when she realises that, she'll leave you just like all the rest.'

Brandon moved quickly, silently, aware that they were still surrounded by people. He moved Petyr's arm up and around, twisting it swiftly up behind his back. The man was too drunk to react properly, and before he could protest, he was pressed hard up against the wall with a thick thud. Brandon moved up behind him, so that he could press his mouth to the other man's ear and hiss his words.

'I could break your arm right now, do you know that? I could snap it in front of all these fine people and leave you bleeding on the floor like the pathetic worm you are. Maybe its time to be nice to me. What do you think?'

Petyr's words were muffled against the wall, his features squashed right up against the smooth surface. It might have been a yelp of pain. Brandon pushed his arm higher up his back, just to be sure. The cry was louder this time, and his discomfort was obvious. Around them, people had started to turn and look. Some looked away again, but most were staring and the whispers were starting to grow. Beside him, Cat's voice was low and hurried.

'Leave him be' she said insistently. 'He doesn't mean any harm.'

Brandon looked at the pathetic man contorted in front of him and felt his anger hot in his throat. He didn't care that people were looking. Let them.

'I said leave him!' Cat's voice rose higher, and he felt her hand on his arm. Her fingers dug in and he realised she was trying to pull him away. 'Let him go. Now!'

He released, and Petyr fell downwards, stumbling to regain his balance. When he turned, his face was flushed bright red. He glanced back between Brandon and Cat, and then to the crowd of eyes looking on behind, before turning on his heel and running.

Brandon watched him leave, feeling his anger still tight inside him. When he looked for Cat, she had gone.

 


	19. 19

Jaime.

He had never known a room so full to feel so empty. People moved around him in an endless cycle, talking about nothing, laughing at nothing, looking vacant. None of them seemed at ease. He moved between them quietly, carefully ignoring them all. He looked instead for a change in tone, an odd expression or a furtive glance; any sign of impending danger. In truth, the air was practically saturated with it. No one was acting normally, and it showed. But nevertheless, he continued to scan their faces for anything out of the ordinary.

Speaking of which, he had been surprised by the hostesses' choice of outfit tonight. The bright colour was flattering but bold, and there was much more skin on show than she usually allowed. Not that it didn't suit her, but it was very much a departure from the norm. She wore it uncomfortably, and he watched the little tugs and pulls she gave herself when she thought no one was watching.

His sister would never be that way. Cersei had a knack of looking like she belonged wherever she went. She would have been the only one there who looked at ease. She would have shamed them all.

He wondered if his sister were happy in New York. She would be enjoying the bright lights and the late nights, the dusky drinks parties and the cool, late morning starts. When they spoke on the phone, she sounded content. She was rarely alone though, and she couldn't say the words he really wanted to hear. Their conversations had been short and functional. She told him that their father never asked about him. Jaime knew that his anger would cool eventually, but nevertheless the man's silence stung him a little. Jaime took that to mean that he was normal after all, in a somewhat disquieting way.

His work kept him busy. Aerys had surprised him with his promotion, but he had taken it to mean that he had the man's confidence, whatever that might mean. It was his reward for making the right decision and staying in Miami, Aerys had said. The reasons didn't really matter to Jaime. He was in the inner circle now, tasked to protect the family. It meant no more grunt work, or getting messy down in the street. Just him, his gun and his wits; a reward for his loyalty and his skill.

Whatever he had told his father, however many times he swore otherwise, he knew he still could have left with Tywin. Aerys would have raged and made threats, but what could he have really done once they were safely away? Tywin was not without resources of his own. He would have protected his children, if only to shame Aerys by thwarting him. His promise to work for Aerys had just been an excuse. The decision had been a surprisingly easy one once he came to make it, and his rewards since had gone some way in making up for what he'd lost.

Cersei had responded as he thought she would, but then he never expected her to understand his reasoning. She saw it only as a stark choice between being with her, or being without her. For him, it was not that simple any more.

He tried to push her from his mind and concentrate on the task in hand. It was difficult though, when every woman reminded him of her - especially Elia. Despite the discomfort she might be feeling from her new approach to dressing, she still moved  among the guests with an air of belonging. She laughed at their bad jokes and listened when they spoke their boring stories. She flattered them subtly and fed their egos. She spun them in. With her husband sulking away in some dark corner, she was the one holding court here and it showed.

She ruined it somewhat with that stupid ploy to get him dancing. Watching her slink back in the crowd, rejected, he lost some of his admiration for her. He kept his distance after that, not quite in arms length but always within sight. She seemed happier that way.

There was a small disturbance from the other side of the hall, but he was not close enough to see what had occurred. A small, weasel faced man in a grey suit had run from the room followed by a rush of whispers and stares. Jaime could not recall his name. Shortly afterwards, he watched one of Starks go running after the Tully girl but she refused to talk to him. Neither of them had noticed the girl's sister, standing alone in the shadows, her face wet with tears.

The drama seemed to be over, and he looked to find Elia again but she had slipped from his view. He glanced around quickly, trying to spot her in the crowd, but she was not there. Colours danced in front of him; red and gold and black, silver, blue and green, but not a scrap of yellow. He spun around, searching but finding nothing. He cursed silently and began to move. They said Elia was an easy job – she did not try and escape her wardens, and was pleasant to them more often than not. And he had managed to lose her on his first try…

He tried not to move too quickly. Aerys had left but his eyes remained, and he couldn't arouse suspicions. Few people tried to talk to him, and for that he was thankful. No doubt his father's absence had been noticed, and people would be unsure if they were allowed to be seen talking to him. He had amused himself by deliberately catching an eye and laughing silently as they hurried to look away. Now, he was just thankful that they moved out of his way.

After a few furtive minutes of searching, he thought perhaps she had left the party to lick her wounds. He would go and search the upper floors in a moment, but he decided to do one last check of the hall. There were alcoves along the walls, deep enough for someone to conceal themselves in. He might have overlooked her. But the search proved fruitless – he found a couple locked in intimate conversation, a man who had over-indulged leaning oddly against the corner, but not his missing lady.

There was a door near the head of the hall, connecting it to the next banqueting suite. He hadn't considered it before but passing it now, he thought it best to at least give it a cursory glance. It was unlocked, and opened silently in to a mirror version of the room Jaime stood in. This one however was shrouded in gloom, its giant windows veiled and the air cold and silent. The light from the open door twinkling inconsistently across the stacked chairs and tables covered in dust sheets. Jaime let his eyes adjust to the change and tried to peer in to the far corners, but couldn't see anything unexpected.

He was about to close the door when he heard a light laugh from across the way. It was only soft, but in the quiet room it echoed and made him stop still. Right at the other end of the room, a shadow moved. It was a woman's laugh, but the shadow was too tall for any woman he knew. Jaime withdrew quietly and slipped back in to the folds of the party, keeping his eye on the doorway. A quick survey of the room found Rhaegar was now also missing. Perhaps he had underestimated Elia; that dress might have had the desired effect after all.

He hung back for a moment longer, considering his options. When he happened to glance back at the door again, he missed the woman slipping quickly back in to the crowd. He did, however, see the back of her grey dress and glint of ice blue sapphires sparkling in the soft light.

 


	20. 20

Brandon.

'Gone? Gone where?'

The scrap of paper had been torn from a journal or a diary, although Brandon was not aware that his sister kept such a thing. It had tomorrows date printed neatly in the top left hand corner, and the ghostly imprint of words previously written imbedded in the paper. The note itself was brief but had not been written in haste. Lyanna had a rather distinctive hand, slanted with just a hint of a flourish, and always very neat. The words she had left on the paper were as neat as Brandon had ever seen.

'I know exactly what you know' he said shortly. 'This' he said, tapping the paper angrily, 'is all the information I have. You think I'm hiding something?'

His father pressed his finger tips together, stared quietly at the note and did not answer Brandon's accusation.

'Why has she done this?' he said eventually, still staring at the paper as if the words might suddenly reform themselves to make more sense. 'Does she realise what will happen?'

Brandon had spent nearly a day with that note in his pocket before he had shown it to anyone. When he first saw it, his instinct had been to tear it up, burn it, destroy the words in the hopes that it would undo whatever it was that she had done. He had spent an hour or so convinced that it was a mistake. She would return through the bedroom window like she always did, sand in her hair and salt on her skin, regretful and guilty but home. Time had marched onwards though, and his imagination had started to conjure up more and more horrific scenarios until his earlier inaction had started to leave a very sour taste. Now he had to stand and watch as his father went through the same cycle.

'We need to get her back' he said with a strange calmness. 'We need to find her now before this goes any further.'

'He'll have taken her somewhere out of state' Brandon insisted. 'Somewhere she doesn't know. Somewhere she can't navigate easily. She'll have trouble escaping.'

Rickard stopped staring at the note to raise his eyes in wide disbelief.

'You can't think that he's  _abducted_ her? She's written it in black and white Bran. She's run away.'

There was small pot on the dining table, painted white and blue, that held the scraps of a household; rubber bands, clips, old coins. Brandon had always hated it. It was small and ugly and just collected crap. He picked it up and flung it hard out in to the garden, watching it smash in to a thousand pieces on the flagstone. It did nothing to relieve his anger.

'She took nothing with her. No clothes, no money, no phone. Don't you think she would have packed a little if she ran away? And why the fuck would she need to run away for anyway?'

Rickard sighed sadly and looked back at the note. He shook his head.

'When has your sister ever done anything that she didn't want to?' he said simply.

Brandon collapsed on to the sofa with a thump, his anger threatening to choke him. Another innocent but ugly household object was kicked half way across the room to shatter against the wall.

'She's not stupid!' he said viciously. 'Why would she do something so reckless? If Robert finds out….' He pressed his hands over his face and groaned long and loud, squeezing his eyes shut.

'She's not stupid' agreed his father quietly. 'But she's young.'

 


	21. 21

Cat.

A cat wandered aimlessly across the path in front of her, down a nearby alley and out of sight. The sound of the sea was to her right, endlessly crashing against the sand, lost in the dark. Lights danced across bay like water snakes, shimmering briefly and then dying. She walked with her cell in her hand, so that she could glance down and see the time illuminated on its face. She checked that it was on vibrate again, and then double checked to see if she had missed any calls. She was late but then again, she had only decided to come at the last minute.

Palm trees lined the road, carving sharp black shadows from the spotlights lit beneath them. The cafes and bars spilled their crowds out on to the sidewalk, wreathed with fairy lights and music. Jon Arryn owned a hotel somewhere along here – pale blue and cream by day, but bathed in a hundred translucent shades of rose, olive, peach and gold as the city moved in to night. Cat had been there a few times, and recalled a softly lit bar with overstuffed chairs and a piano, and rows of martini glasses across the back wall. More importantly, it was neutral ground.

She arrived a little breathless, although she had not been aware that she had been walking quickly. As she made her way across the foyer, she caught a glimpse of herself in the long, thin mirrors hung behind the reception desk and saw a woman pale and messy, with hair in a tangle at the back of her head. She kept walking, but did her best to smooth down the unruly curls and retie her ponytail. She was still wearing the clothes she had gone to bed in – sweatpants and a thin jumper. She had given herself a cursory glance before leaving, and had been satisfied that she was clean and relatively unwrinkled. But now she was here, and surrounded by the eyes of others, she regretted not taking a moment to change.

It was too late now. She took a table away from the bar, near the back. The waiter had the good grace not to make any obvious judgement of her attire when he took her order, although he called her by her name and was obviously aware of who she was. She did not take a sip from her glass when it arrived, merely moved it around the table and watched the colours it made as the light hit it. Her cell remained palmed carefully in her hand, out of sight, near her thigh. She glanced at it again, but still nothing.

The thoughts that occupied her where old and stale and she wished they would vanish. She had gone over this too many times now to be surprised by anything her subconscious might throw up. She had decided, against all sensible reason, to give Brandon this opportunity. She would have happily scrubbed him from her mind weeks ago, and had tried - until an hour ago -  to do just that.

Cat made lists whenever she faced a dilemma; a habit she had picked up from her mother. She had found it necessary, in order to navigate her way through the fanciful, emotional realms her siblings so freely occupied. Cat saw very little good come from acting solely on impulse, although Lysa and Edmure always seemed so enslaved to it. It was emotion that had driven Lysa in the arms of Petyr, and blinded her to the truth of his character. It was emotion that ruled Edmure, and let him happily neglect his duty in favour of an easy life. Cat had felt the pull of it sometimes, when her guard was down. A cord, linking her to that part of herself that insisted she just feel, just know, just be, and not to question. She had felt its tug when Brandon kissed her. She had felt it still when he hurt Petyr, even though she had hated his violence. She could feel it now, threatening to pull her down under the waves, in to the crushing black beneath.

And so she made lists, to establish the facts and weigh things in the proper manner. She made lists, so that she could be sure that her decisions were not ruled by her heart. She made lists, so that she would not forget her duty.

But then again.

She looked at her cell again, and saw no missed call or message. The time was edging onwards, and now he was nearly 40 minutes late. Another item to add to the inventory. She already had more than enough reasons not to be here, it felt almost churlish to add another. She felt the tug again, and the waves were calling her.

When her phone began to vibrate, she nearly fell from her chair. In a scramble, she picked it up and tried to compose herself, caught so unawares that she didn't even see who was calling. She answered breathless and unsure.

'Cat?'

The voice was unfamiliar. She said nothing for a moment, confused. It spoke again.

'Cat? Are you there?'

Not unfamiliar, just unexpected.

'Dad?'

There was fear in his voice.

'Come home, Cat. Now. Something's happened.'

 


	22. 22

Elia.

The screams woke her from her daydream. She was alone in her bedroom, the city spread out beneath her, and the echo of that cry dug its way deep in to her bones. She did not turn to look, not immediately. Her eyes were red and sore but they had dried hours ago. She rubbed them nevertheless, and stood slowly, the effort of putting one foot in front of another a sluggish and difficult business.

The children were in the next room. She went to them, trying to keep her face pleasant, but as soon as they looked at her she knew she had failed. They clung to her with tiny little hands, made unsteady by her being unsteady, and all she could think to do was run her fingers through their fine hair. The ghost in the corner looked at her but said nothing.

'What's happening?' she said quietly. The screams had faded in to bitter sobbing. It was clearly Rhaella, although she couldn't be sure where it was coming from. All sound echoed in this empty building.

The ghost called Darry answered her just as quietly, but he had nothing to say.

'You should stay here' he said. 'Aerys has ordered it. It's not safe out there.'

Elia looked back down to her children and tried to smile. She sank to her knees so that she was face to face with them. Aegon reached out and touched her face with his small hand, and she kissed it.

'We are brave' she told them with a thin smile. 'Aren't we?'

The children nodded silently but did not smile back. Rheanys began to tremble under her mother's hand. The sobbing continued.

'There is nothing to worry about, my loves. Darry will protect us, and so will Dayne and Selmy and uncle Lewyn and all the rest. I love you very much. I will protect you too.'

_But your father wont._

The thought caught her suddenly and off guard, and she felt hot tears prick her eyes again. She closed them tight, willing them away. She had done her crying last night. There would be no more of it now.

As she knelt with eyes shut, she heard the sound of footsteps running towards them. The sobbing came to, breathless and weak. The door to the bedroom opened with a bang and Elia pulled her children to her, as Darry made to draw his gun. But the figure that fell in to the room was no threat. She pulled herself, crying and red, on to the bed and sat there shaking. The boy sat next to her, lost in the great, billowing sleeves of her dressing gown.

Darry shut the door and locked it, as Elia put down her children and went to Rhaella. The woman had her face hidden in her hand, but Elia could see the swelling that was forming around her wet eye, and the blood was trickling from her broken lip.

The boy would not let go of his mother, whatever Elia tried. His little face peeked at her from under the fabric, his expression fierce and wild. In the end, she gave up and merely put a blanket around them both.

'Darry, take my children in to the next room please.'

When they were alone, Elia sat down next to them both on the bed. For a while, they sat in silence while Rhaella cried. Elia held her hand, and it was deathly cold.

'He's mad' she whispered eventually.

Elia gave her a tissue, and the woman began to clean her face, wincing she touched on the broken skin.

'He won't listen to anyone' she said between deep breaths. 'I tried to talk to him, but he got so angry….' She trailed off and began to cry again, although her tears were silent this time, and she no longer shook so violently.

'Oh Rhaegar' she said mournfully. 'Oh my boy….what have you done….?'

Elia wished she could comfort her, to offer her a balm to soothe the injuries her family had done to her, but she could think of nothing to say in their defence. There was nothing soft in her heart any longer, for either Rhaellas' husband or her own.

'We can't stay here' she said, trying to be practical. 'The Stark's came last night to demand justice. They will come again today. The Baratheons will be with them, and others most likely. Aerys has made too many enemies. We are not safe.'

'Where would we go?' Rhaella sniffed, holding her son closer to her.

'Anywhere. I have family in the west, I plan to go there. You would be welcome too.'

'And Aerys?'

Elia could not fathom the reasoning behind her question.

'He will stay here, and deal with the mess he's created' she said bitterly. 'He wouldn't leave, even if you begged him.'

She could sense the woman's trepidation. She squeezed her hand again.

'We have to' she said earnestly. 'We need to get the children out of this.'

Rhaella looked towards her son. Viserys was only a scrap of a boy, although he looked a lot like his brother had done at that age. Elia prayed that that he would grow up to be a better man than Rhaegar had proven to be.

It seemed to work. Rhaella sniffed again, sat herself upright and wiped her eyes.

'Ok' she said cautiously. 'We will go with you. When?'

'Now' said Elia, without a moment's thought. 'Go and dress, pack a few things, and we can leave. I want to be out of this city by night fall.'

She called Darry back in to the room. As she explained herself to him, the ghost changed a shade paler.

'Aerys has not said for you to leave' he said when she was done. 'I can't help you do this.'

Elia pointed at the woman still red and raw on the bed, her voice like a whip.

'This is the kind of man you work for' she said angrily. 'This is his way of keeping his family safe. I can do this without your help but it will be easier with it. We are leaving, for the children's sake, at least until it's safer here.'

She dropped her voice and approached him, keeping her eyes on his. She knew this one. She knew he was good.

'Help her' she said softly. 'Aerys doesn't know what he's doing any more. He hasn't for a long time. The best way to serve him now is to see that his wife and children are ok.'

Darry nodded. He looked at the boy for moment, and then back to his mother.

'Come on then' he said gruffly. 'Be quick, before he notices we're gone.'

'I'll meet you down stairs' she said as they made to leave. 'But if anyone suspects, then just go. I'll catch up.'

Once they were gone, she moved quickly. There were not many of her things at the hotel, and for a brief minute she thought about the yellow house and the things she would be giving up there. But she couldn't dwell on that for long. There was a gym bag here, large enough to fit in the few clothes she had, as well as some things for the children. She'd have her credit cards with her. There was nothing she couldn't replace if she needed to. Perhaps in a few weeks, she could come back for anything else… For now, she just needed to be out of here.

She was busy stuffing some of the toys in to the bag when the bedroom door opened again. She didn't turn around immediately, assuming it was Darry coming to check on her. She didn't turn until he was right behind her.

'I do hope you're not planning to run off like my wife?' said the voice icily.

 


	23. 23

Brandon.

The restaurant was empty but for the three of them. It was nearing midday but the tables had been left bare and the curtains were still hung half drawn across the windows. The day light came in at sharp, irregular angles through the gaps, casting odd, pale shadows. The bar was in darkness, and the kitchen beyond was vacant and still. Brandon could feel the slick trickle of sweat inching its way down the small of his back, and realised they had turned the air conditioning off too. Every breath felt warm and damp. He took another mouthful of water to try and clear the taste, but it was just as limp and tepid as the air. Yesterday night, they had been seated in one of the board rooms – all cool leather and bottled spring water. The contrast with today's hospitality had not gone unnoticed.

'He thinks he can intimidate us? What kind of cheap trick does he think he's pulling?'

His father had not been able to sit down for long, and had begun to stride impatiently in front of one of the half-covered windows. The late morning sun was rising behind him, making him appear all in black, thinly outlined in gold.

Hoster was sat next to Brandon, slowly rotating his glass on the table and watching the condensation pool on the tablecloth.

'After our last meeting, I expected nothing less if I'm honest.'

He looked up at the restless figure prowling the edges of the room.

'Sit, Rickard, please. It won't do us any good to meet him like this. He wants you to be unsettled. Calm down.'

Brandon watched his father slyly from under his brow. He did not seem to be taking his chiding well. But Hoster was right; they had left the Targaryen hotel late last night as the thunder of Aerys' wrath rattled behind them. The veil of civility had been delicate from the start, and had been torn apart almost instantly. The old man had been all steel and spit as he raged to them, but Brandon had seen the flicker of malice in his eye when he told them that he wouldn't say where his son was even if he knew. He had looked directly at Robert when he spoke, and it was all Brandon and Ned could do to hold him from leaping across the table and killing him then and there. Today, they had returned in smaller numbers. Ned had been left in charge of Robert – a task Brandon did not at all envy. He would rather be sat in this dank half light, surrounded by the Targaryen mob, than trying to contain nearly 200 pounds of tattooed fury.

They had been waiting for near on half an hour before the doors at the other end of the restaurant opened. The far end of the room was almost all in darkness – the giant panoramic windows that framed that corner were the only ones with their curtains fully closed. In the gloom, the raised dais where Aerys took his meals every night was shrouded in black. Brandon could not see who had come through the door, only their outlines. A wet, sticky sounding cough echoed in to the damp air, and Brandon knew Aerys had joined them.

'I don't need you here Tully' he wheezed between coughs. 'Wait outside. This doesn't concern you.'

Hoster bristled but did not rise to the taunt. He gave Rickard a look before turning to leave.

'I'll be in my car' he whispered as he passed. 'Remember. Be calm.'

The room remained silent until the door had closed behind him and the sound of his footsteps had faded away. By now, Brandon's eyes had become more accustomed to the light and he could see Aerys sat at the head of his table, bend and pale. He was flanked by five of his men. Martell, Selmy, Tarly and Tyrell; Brandon was familiar with them all. The Lannister boy was there too, looking sullen in the middle of the pack. He looked almost innocent in comparison to the weather worn faces of the men around him, but Brandon was not fooled.

'I see no point in dragging this out' growled Aerys, beckoning the pair to him with a withered hand.

'I hope your emotions have cooled suitably for you to see things rationally. I am not responsible for what my son may have done, and I don't give a shit about your idiot daughter. She was fool enough to run away with him, that's her business. Nothing else has changed.'

He seemed to take a moment to inspect his finger nails, stopping to clean one in with his teeth.

'This is still my city. I own every one of you. Every. Single. One. That includes you Stark. So I suggest you stop your whingeing and tow the line. Understand?'

Brandon bit his lip, so tight he could taste blood. Beside him, he could almost feel the heat coming from his father. When Rickard spoke, he could hear the crack in his voice.

'You might not care about your son, Aerys. But I care a great deal about my daughter, and I want her back. I do not think she has gone willingly.'

Aerys sucked the air through his teeth and sat back in his chair.

'I see you have decided to ignore reason. Fair enough. Let me put it another way.'

In the shadow, his eyes glinted. Brandon's mouth tasted iron and salt.

'You're daughter is a whore, and I don't care much about whores. She went with him wet and willing, I have no doubt about that. Rhaegar will finish with her soon enough and she will come whimpering back to you like a mewling pup. So if you think I'm going to go chasing after her for you than you are mistaken. Do not bring your misplaced anger to me. Punish her all you like when she returns but keep your mouth shut until then, do you hear me? I will not have you questioning me in my own home. I will not!'

His voice rose as he spoke, so that his last shouted words echoed around the gloomy room. Brandon felt the heat in his stomarch, so tight it made him feel sick. He didn't realise that his father's hand was across his chest until he tried to move forward. Rickard shook his head at him. He answered in careful, clipped tones.

'Aerys, if you're asking me to stand by while you insult my family, I can't. I'm asking you for justice, that's all. Bring them back and let's hear the truth from them.'

The old man gave a hollow kind of laugh.

'I've said all I will say on the subject' he chuckled. 'Leave. Or I am likely to start finding you annoying.'

He was about to stand to go when Brandon felt the words that had been buzzing in his head burst from his bloody lips like a hailstorm.

'Your son is a monster, and I will hunt him down like the coward he is and bring you back his head, old man!'

Aerys slowly turned where he stood, his cold eyes falling on Brandon for the first time. His lip curled in to a cruel snarl.

'Stark, I suggest you control your son.'

Brandon could feel all eyes on him now, and his father's insistent hand still across his chest, but he couldn't stop now. His anger was too bright, too painful.

'You dare call my sister a whore again, you dare! I'll kill you just like I'll fucking kill your son. Understand that you bastard! I swear it. On everything I love, I swear it.'

Aerys did not blink for what seemed like a very long time. Brandon's words hung in the air around them, their echo the only sound in the room. At his chest, his father's hand tightened suddenly, trying to push him back. His breath came out ragged and sharp.

'You threaten me?'

Aerys' voice was a whisper, his eyes narrow slits in the dark. Behind him, Brandon watched as each of his men moved their hands slowly towards their jackets. His own gun was far away, sitting in the safe in his father's house. They had been told to come unarmed. They thought the arrangement would go both ways, but that seemed like a very foolish idea now.

'I knew this day would come' the old man continued, hissing with satisfaction.

'I thought it would be the Baratheon boy who made the move, I'll admit it. But I knew this was coming all the same. You've all been waiting for this chance to take me down. How many of you are in on it, eh? That Tully bastard is one of them for sure. Arryn too, that smug, self righteous pig. Greyjoy? Bolton? How many more? Those arrogant shits in California are just waiting to come over here and get involved. I should never have let that stupid bitch marry Rhaegar. '

He spun quickly on his heel, his back to the pair and said something under his breath. Before Brandon could hear, the men were coming for them both, guns raised. In an instant, thick hands had a hold of him, twisting his arm up round his back, forcing him to arch painfully. Aerys was grinning down at him as he felt his legs get kicked out, causing him to fall painfully to his knees. The cold hard barrel of a gun was pressing in to his temple, and two hands kept his arm firmly behind his back.

'You will regret everything you said' chuckled Aerys from somewhere above him.

'I will cut this cancer out before it has a chance to spread. Lewyn, end him.'

'No!'

Brandon kicked fiercely from under the hands that gripped him, slipping on the marble floor and trying to twist away. Panic took hold of him, replacing the hot anger with something cold and creeping; the sense of slipping under water with no way to kick free. His shouts filled the room, mixing with Aerys' laughter. All the time, the barrel of the gun pressed hard against his head.

Beside him, his father began to plead but Brandon couldn't hear the words. He twisted his head to look up at Martell, the man who held the gun to him. He was looking down at him blankly, his face dark and unreadable. Brandon screamed up at him, trying to wake him from him daze. Seconds passed, agonisingly slow, but the shot did not come.

Somewhere beside them, Aerys growled.

'Spineless bastard. I knew you were worthless the moment I saw you.'

Martell blinked but did not look away from Brandon. Slowly, his gun fell from Brandon's head. But Aerys' voice slid in slowly, cold and deliberate.

'Must I remind you Lewyn? I caught your pretty little niece trying to leave me this morning, like a rat deserting a ship. Kill him now or I kill her, and make you watch.'

Brandon opened his mouth to speak but he could already see the flicker in the man's eye. He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. The gun hand twitched, threatening to rise again. But then suddenly…

'Enough!'

The blow came from his right, so hard it made his head ring. He hit the ground with a crack, smashing his nose on to floor. He spluttered, struggling for air amid the blood that filled his mouth. Thick drops fell on the marble below him, bright scarlet against the stone. Breathless, he tried to turn but was caught by another hit. This time the hand was around his throat, pinning him on his back, crushing him against the floor. Another hand joined it, and there was a dark pressure on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. He clawed at the hands desperately, but they were like iron. In his fog, he could see Tarly bearing down on him, smiling.

'I have no problem putting down the vermin' he laughed. Brandon tried to look back to his father, still held by Tyrell and Selmy. Aerys had stepped off the dais in to the half light, with the Lannister boy just behind him. The look on the old man's face was joyous, and he pressed his hands together gleefully.

'Yes, a much better idea Randyll. The old ways are best.'

Brandon continued to splutter and gasp. The blood was filling his mouth, trickling down his throat and bubbling up across his lips. The hands around his neck held tight, squeezing the breath from him painfully. His vision began to blur, colours running across one another and back again. His father seemed to be moving farther away. He tried to speak but his words came out like whispers, lost in the blood and spit. His father was shouting, fighting, trying to come back to him, but he couldn't hear the words clearly. Desperately, Brandon stretched his hand out in to space, trying to reach him. His fingers clawed at dead air and the blood continued to fill him, warm and thick.

_No_ a voice said insistently in his head, over and over.  _No, no, no, no. This is not how this ends. This is not what I wanted._

He tried to push all his energy back in to his body, to not think, to not speak; he just needed to be free. He just needed to get free.

_I can't go like this. Lyanna needs me. Ned needs me, and Benjen. They're so young. I can't go._

The pain was sharp, his muscles fighting for air that wasn't there.

_I need to stay. I have to stay._

In the distance, something flared like a firework exploding in the night. A shot of yellow in the darkness and a heavy thud. Through the buzzing pain, Brandon could see the figure slump and fall. If he screamed, then no sound came out.

_No, no, no, no._

The weight was immense, and every breath was a torment. The world was just grey and red now, and so far away.

_This is not how I die_  he thought desperately.

He was wrong.

 


	24. 24

Jaime.

There was blood on his arm. He had not noticed until now. He rubbed it absently with his thumb, but it had already dried on to the cotton, leaving a red orange stain. He needed to shower, and change his clothes, but he doubted he would get a chance for a while. The others had been left with the job of cleaning up the restaurant, but Aerys had wanted Jaime to stay with him. He had walked with the old man back to his penthouse in silence, listening to him chuckle all the way. Now, as Aerys lay in a fitful sleep on his bed, he was left to wait on the balcony in the sun.

The world below seemed normal enough – no more loud than usual, just as busy. Yet Jaime found himself forever scanning the horizon, looking intently in to the nooks and crannies of the streets below, searching for something; a sign of the oncoming storm. By now, Hoster Tully would know something was wrong. The gunshot had rung out loud enough for guests to hear. Some of them had already made a hasty departure, and even if Tully hadn't heard the sound, he would have seen them leave. In an hour, maybe two, he would return. Aerys thought he had cut the head of the hydra, but it would just grow back threefold. Tully, Arryn and Baratheon; he had given them all the perfect excuse to come at him now.

'You're one of the last ones I can trust now' the old man had murmured as they walked, hiding his mouth behind a wrinkled hand. 'Dayne, Whent and Hightower – they all ran off with my son. Cowards. He isn't in charge yet! Don't they know I'm still their boss? I'm surrounded by fools….'

Jaime had kept his mouth shut and his eyes ahead.

'But you stayed, didn't you Lannister? Even when your father left me, you stayed. I must have good, loyal men with me now. This business won't die with the Starks, but at least I've gotten rid of the trouble makers. The others will groan and cry but they'll see, eventually. They'll understand not to make more trouble.'

Jaime wondered when exactly the man had truly lost his last grip on sanity. There seemed no doubt about it now. He looked at him, small and pallid, twitching in his sleep. He did not seem like a monster, but that business in the restaurant had been very unpleasant. Moreover, it had been rash. But to watch him walk around his room now, whistling off-key and getting in to his bed, he seemed carefree. He often liked to have a nap during the day; he spent most of the day in bed now. How he could sleep so easily when so many people were gunning for him just proved how deluded he had become.

Yet on the other hand, a full out assault seemed unlikely. The Baratheon boy was hot headed, but the others would think carefully before they made a move. The hotel was still surrounded by Targaryen men, even if half of the bodyguard had left with Rhaegar. The penthouse had guards at every door, security systems the most impressive Jaime had ever encountered. Perhaps Aerys would have a few days of rest then after all, if he stayed here.

While the old man slept, Jaime waited, and wondered. The question remained; what would he have to do when the wave did hit? He thought about Cersei, far away. She would tell him be careful, and stay safe. Nothing good would come of making brash decisions. Wait until the dust settled and pick the right side. He thought about his father, and knew he would say the same. They were so alike, those two. No wonder he had insisted she go away with him – she was the heir now, ever since he let the side down. He thought about Tyrion and imagined the smirk on his strange little face. He laughed quietly. He was only a boy but he'd have something sensible to say.

It came down to this. He had made his choice when he agreed to work for Aerys. Whatever he had to do over the coming days, he would meet the challenge with a smile like he always did. He had unsheathed his gun and placed it within easy reach on the table. It shone silver and black in the sun, solid and certain. He was not just Cersei's twin, Tyrions brother. He was not just his father's son or Aerys' bodyguard. None of those labels had ever sat completely well on him. He had to answer to himself in the end. This is what Selmy would do. This is what Dayne had done. They remained, and so would he.

There was a stir from behind him, and he looked back in to the dimly lit bedroom. The old man was rising, done with sleep. He met Jaime's eye with a smile.

'I need food' he said loudly as he stretched. 'Blood and sleep makes me hungry.'

Jaime nodded and came in to the room, taking one of the seats in the little lounge area opposite the bed. He kept his gun out, resting on his lap.

Aerys made a curt phone call and a bus boy arrived a short while later with a breakfast tray full of little delicacies. He ate it sat on his bed, ignoring the cutlery and spearing his food with his finger tips. Jaime watched him silently, listening to him talk. He spoke in ever more rambling circles, about power and his plans for the future. He would find Rhaegar and drag him back, but he would kill him for his disobedience. He had another son after all, and a third on the way. His wife had disappeared with them, but he wasn't overly concerned. His men had seen her leave with Darry, and he knew where she was going. She was a coward too, but he would leave her be for the time being. When all this mess was cleared up, he'd drag her back too and teach her a lesson in loyalty. He talked about the other families, and his utter contempt for every single one, outlining their flaws in detail. His voice cracked under the vitriol of his words, at first loud and vengeful but slowly, gradually, becoming more and more sad. Eventually, when it seemed as though he were running out of steam, he looked up from his plate and smiled very slowly.

'I shall tell you a little secret, young Lannister. Something I was working on when your father was still around. My last little secret, if it all goes wrong.'

He wiped his face on a napkin, and sucked his fingers nosily.

'If the time comes, I won't die by their hand. No. It will be on my terms, right to the last. The basement of this entire building is wired. Enough explosive to blow this place to heaven, and half of this shit-stained city with it. I'm telling you now, they won't know what hit them. If I go, I'm taking them all with me.'

His laugh started somewhere deep inside him, a low and empty rattle, making him shake.

Jaime fingered his gun slowly, watching him in silence.


	25. 25

Elia.

She had not seen the outside of her suite for days. Her meals were delivered wordlessly, and the trays taken away again just as quietly. There was a guard at her door every second of the day, and it was kept locked from the outside. The few clothes that she had there were laundered and returned, neatly pressed and folded. She was allowed to get fresh air on the balcony, but someone had to unlock it and stand there with her. She wondered what they thought she might do. They were 50 stories up. Was she drastically underestimating the seriousness of her situation? Should she be contemplating suicide? They thought she might be. Perhaps she should change tact.

She could cope with all of that though. What troubled her most was the fact that her children were not with her. She was told they were being kept in another suite on the floor below her, with a nanny and toys from the yellow house. She was told she didn't need to worry about them. She didn't believe any of it. No amount of screaming had done her any good. In the end, she took to lying on the carpet with her ear pressed downwards, trying to hear them, but nothing ever reached her.

She heard other things though. The guards at her door were not always so quiet, and she caught snatches of conversation every so often. She had heard the gun shot too, and found out later who it had been for. She could not bring herself to feel sad for the death of the Starks – her own loss was still too raw – but she mourned them for what their deaths represented. With this act, she knew her father-in-law had slipped in to a war he had little chance of winning.

She heard about the other shootings too, from all over the city, more and more each day. Targaryen businesses were being robbed and looted, people killed in the streets. She watched the TV every night and hung her head solemnly as the news rolled in about another death, another gangland hit. On the third day, she had written a letter to her brother. They had taken her cell and the cut the phone line to the room, but she knew she had to get word to him somehow. He would have seen the news too. Her heart sank to think of him trying to come to her and being caught up in it all. She didn't know what Aerys was capable of any more.

She still had maid service, who came in to change her linen and bring her fresh towels. She bribed one with a pair of her diamond earrings. She had no idea if the letter ever reached its destination, but she heard no news of Oberyn on the TV reports or in the guards whispers, and so hoped it had been successful.

By the eighth day, she started to notice a change in tone. The news reports were getting more frequent. They spoke about curfews, and the national guard, and riots breaking out. From her window she could see the fires burning all over, staining the sky orange, red and black. They burned endlessly, eating up the city block by block, spreading greedily. Her nights were littered with gun fire and police sirens. She did not sleep.

 

The guards began to talk more loudly, their words rushed and worried. They talked increasingly about breaches in security, and the faces she glimpsed were becoming less familiar, the old names said less often.  _Most likely dead_  she thought, numb. People were always running. No one ever seemed to walk anymore.

She asked incessantly about her children. She was used to their silence and blank stares, but she asked all the same. Occasionally, one of them would slip up and give a sad smile and say they were ok. It was easier with these new faces, she found. She was just beginning to pick out the ones she thought she could crack, when Aegon and Rhaenys were dumped unceremoniously on her bed on the thirteenth day. She did not question why her children had been suddenly returned to her. She thought only that they had begun to run out of guards.

 

On the fifteenth night, she was woken by shouts in the corridor. Clutching her children to her, she listened to heavy footfalls and panic, to more shots and cries. Someone died a few feet from her wall. She heard his last gasps from her bed. A day later, the electricity went out to the whole building and she knew the enemy were getting more bold. They stopped guarding her room all the time, just leaving it locked instead. She had tried to break down the door before – she had enough heavy furniture at her disposal to give her some weight – and her attempts became more desperate after that. But Aerys had built the hotel to keep himself self, and the doors were reinforced with steel. She had soon ruined the wood but the door was no closer to being open.

 

She kept her voice light, her smiles frequent. But no matter what she did, she couldn't hide the truth from the children. Aegon was quiet all the time, never more than a hands breadth from her, his wide eyes always open. When she hugged him, his little body felt tense under her arms. Rhaenys cried for most of the day, inconsolable no matter what her mother did. There was a moment once, on the seventeenth night, in the dark blackness as she watched the fires burning from her bed, that her thoughts drifted to the balcony and the very high drop below her. She shook it from her mind and didn't think it again.

 

By the nineteenth day, she started to hear them speaking about an unexpected victory. She didn't pay it much attention at first. Desperate people cling to desperate lies. But the word reached her again and again, the same thing each time. Tywin was returning to the city to help Aerys, the police had arrested Tully and Arryn. She did not let herself feel hopeful at first, but it crept in to her nevertheless. She was so exhausted, it didn't take much for the little seed to take hold and soon enough, the hope ran through her like a wildfire. All she needed was a break in the madness, a moment when she could get out of the hotel and make her way back east, unhindered. Tywin's arrival could offer her that distraction, a way out. She would wait.

 

On the last day, she was sat huddled on the bed with an infant under each arm, watching the TV with the volume down low. When she heard them coming, she felt her heart jump. When they opened the door, it fell.

 


	26. 26

Jaime.

He was sick of the smell of burning. For days now, the air had been thick with ash and gasoline. The fire engines roared around the city on an endless loop, their sirens forever blaring. It was a cheap tactic, one that had been started by the Baratheons but had been quickly picked as a form of protest up by a city that was fed up with gang warfare on their streets. No one had escaped the fall out. Looters, muggers and all the other petty criminals from the underbelly of the city had crawled out to take advantage of the opportunities the chaos had offered. It had not surprised Jaime at how quickly things had escalated. From what he knew of Aerys, he knew the fight would be harsh and bloody.

But the smell was beginning to grate.

The old man stood with his back to him, looking out of his window in to the ruined city. The night was creeping in, blotting the heavens purple and grey, orange and red, a gaping wound across the sky. The light from the fires were a distant glow at the bottom edge of the window.

'I have to ask you again to reconsider' said the small man in the corner. Pycelle was dressed in grey, shades of smoke and cinder, neat and pressed. His wiry beard was characteristically wild though, untrimmed and flecked with white. He stroked it thoughtfully and tried his request again.

'Aerys, please. The police are closing in. Too many of your men have been arrested or killed, they will have warrants by now. We need to move.'

Aerys did not answer. He was wearing his bathrobe and nothing more, his hair wet and uncombed in a tangle around his head. He stretched.

'If we can get you to Jacksonville, maybe even out of state, we can buy some time and let this thing burn out. We can come back again when its dust.'

Aerys snorted.

'So this is your best advice for me? To run?'

He reached remained still, silhouetted in the window.

'You sound defeated.'

He spat the words. Pycelle shifted uneasily on his feet, glancing down to his hands and back up again.

'No, certainly not. Its just that sometimes, the wisest thing to do is to retreat for a little while, and live to fight another day.'

_Wrong choice of words_  thought Jaime.  _Retreat? The old man will hate that. It's almost like you want him to get angry…._

Sure enough, when Aerys turned his face was a mask of rage.

'Do  _not_  speak to me about retreat! I will not run with my tail between my legs! Is that what you'll have me do, Pycelle? Be a dog?!'

Pycelle coughed lightly and spread his hands out in front of him, his palms facing the ceiling.

'Then perhaps it's time to consider the other option.'

Jaime raised his eyebrow, impressed. Aerys didn't know it, but he was being walked down a very specific path. Tywin Lannister was already inside the city. With him, the promise of a renewed assault, fresh men, fresh ideas, strength from New York and more money. Pycelle had made the call himself, to tell him Aerys was ready for aid. The lie sat painfully with Jaime. Nothing and no one would help Aerys win this now, as if it ever could. The only thing left to do was to try and manage the fall out.

Aerys glowered at them in the dusk light, hunched and wiry against the ever-darkening sky. Jaime suddenly found himself remembering that he was not actually all that old. How did he become so decrepit?

'Tell me again, how Tywin Lannister will be my saviour. I do love that tale. It makes me so…. happy.' He smiled slowly, revealing tooth by tooth. The glow from the fires caught in his eye, for an instant making it seem as though it were glowing too. Pycelle did not back down.

'He helped you once. He will be a friend to you again.'

Aerys shook his head.

'Or he'll kick me when I'm down and take everything I have.'

_Maybe he's not so blind as he seems_ Jaime thought. He looked to Pycelle and shrugged. The man in grey shot him a dirty look and continued.

'Meet with him. Talk to him at least. Hoster Tully was arrested last night, along with his son. Jon Arryn was taken in for questioning this morning. That's two of your main enemies out of play. Now is the time to strike, hard. Robert Baratheon is young and stupid. Without guidance, he's no threat. We shouldn't just sit here and wait any more.'

Jaime wondered if he would swallow that lie any better. The charges against the Tullys were paper thin at best, and it was scare tactics only with Arryn. Robert was an animal, that was true, but that just made him even more dangerous. He had devastated Aerys's businesses, led attack after attack against his men, been vicious in his victory. Aerys had underestimated him from the start, and that had been his downfall.

'Fine, I'll do it. Tell him I'll meet him.' With a dismissive flick of his hand, Aerys fell for the lie. Jaime felt a tension release that he didn't know he'd been holding. Pycelle dipped his head in understanding and left the room, already talking quick and low in to his cell.

Aerys turned back to the window, once again a black profile against the skyline. The room was completely dark now, the only light coming in from the world outside. The suite was a mess; clothes strewn on every surface, half eaten meals left to rot in the corners, broken glasses and spilled drinks. Aerys had torn the art work from one of the walls a few days ago, and it still lay in tatters on the floor. He had not left the room for days.

'What would you do, if you could make your choices again?' asked the man who was not old. Jaime thought for a moment before answering.

'The same thing I did the first time round' he replied truthfully. 'I wouldn't know any better.'

Aerys chuckled.

Somewhere down the corridor, they heard gun fire. Shouts and screams, people running. Aerys did not turn around.

'Your father is here' he said absently, as though in a dream. 'It seems Pycelle was wrong…'

Jaime had his gun in his hand before he could even think about it. He glanced out towards the hallway, where the noises were coming closer. His instinct was to run there and see what was happening, even though he already knew. He twitched as he stood, conflicted. Aerys continued to speak in a low monotone.

'Will you kill him for me? I would feel so much happier if I definitely knew he was dead. And having you do it would be all the sweeter.'

Jaime looked at him, confused. The gun weighed heavy in his hand, his finger already on the trigger. The shouts were loud now, and he recognised the voices. The great booming roar of Gregor Clegane, and the splintering of wood and metal. He heard a woman scream, desperate and wild.

'Kill him?' he said confused, his attention only half on what Aerys was saying.

'Yes. Kill him. Kill your father for me. You can hear what he's doing. That was no doubt my poor sweet daughter-in-law meeting a terrible end by his command. Kill him.'

Jaime looked back to the door, a cold knot in his stomach. The woman's screams continued, only to suddenly become muffled and dull. In the next second, they were ended, replaced by the wailing of a child.

'I can't' he said, with a thick throat.

'Very well. Then I have a phone call to make.'

He reached in to his bathrobe pocket and took out his cell phone. In the dark, he began to punch in a number.

'I said I wouldn't let them take me' he said carelessly, it seemed to himself more than Jaime. There was no emotion as he spoke. In the cold, bleak room, Jaime watched as he began to raise the cell to his ear. Outside, the child had stopped crying. The gun fire continued.

'I'll leave them ashes' he said softly. 'Charred bones and meat.'

Jaime moved without realising what he was doing. He may have thought about Cersei, but he didn't know why – she was a hundred miles away, safe and protected. But nevertheless, he remembered the image of her as he raised his gun. He was close enough to hear the dial tone click over, and a far off voice answered somewhere in the distance. As the barrel of his revolver pressed deep in to the other man's back, he felt something odd blossom inside, in all the ugly colours of a bruise.

_Righteous._

In the window, he saw his mirror image rise up from the shadows to be haloed in the burning lights of the city. He looked himself in the eye as he pulled the trigger.

 


	27. 27

Cat.

She hardly ever went to the beach. It seemed such a strange thing to say, when you lived in a city like Miami, but there was nothing appealing about sun burn and sand in awkward places. And yet today she was sitting on the sand, arms and legs bare and the warmth creeping in to her, sunglasses over her eyes and the wide open sea stretching out before her.

The city had moved on. Behind her, the streets were clear again and full of people. Hardly anything of the past few months remained to mark its pretty face, as if the city had just put on a fresh layer of makeup, given itself a reassuring pat on the back and got on with the business of living. It was comforting. It was worrying.

Beside her, Lysa sat silently with her fingers knotted and her eyes distant. Cat turned to her once or twice, opened her mouth silently, closed it again and then turned away. She could think of nothing to say. There was a distance between them now. Lysa had moved in to another realm, and for the first time in her life, Cat could not follow. Anything she thought to say just sounded hollow and weak, unable to come close to healing the hurt of her loss. As a last attempt, she reached across and unlaced her sisters pale fingers and wove them with her own. Lysa had never said who the babies father had been, although there had never been a doubt in Cats' mind.  But strangely, knowing had seemed to give her even less of a reason to try and talk to Lysa.

It was the first time, in a long time, that she had been able to sit in silence. And however sad and strange the circumstances might be, it was welcome. For a little while she sat and thought of nothing, and that too was also a welcome change. Soon enough though, those little feelings came creeping slowly back in to her corners of her mind to take root.

She felt guilty for mourning her own loss when it seemed to trivial in comparison to her sisters, and even thinking of it as mourning made her feel bad. How could she mourn something she had never had? Whatever had passed between her and Brandon had died with him, and the only recollection she had of it was the ghost of the kiss that she could still feel on her lips, sometimes when she woke. That, and perhaps the memory of the thread that had tugged at her, however briefly, and driven her in to a bar in the dark of night. It faded with every passing day, and soon enough she would forget that too.

Too many things had changed, and she had had no time to dwell on herself for long. Besides Lysa, there had been so many other little tragedies that had come to light the wake of Aerys' death, all terrible, all sad. She had heard about the death of the Targaryen woman and her children from her father, although Hoster had spared her all the details. She had heard them nevertheless, and the chill she had felt for it stayed with her even now. She had heard that Aerys' wife was dead too, although no one could be sure. His remaining children had escaped to Europe said the same rumour, again without any substance. She hoped it was true.

Where reports were most obscure though were around the fate of the Stark girl, Brandon's sister. She was dead, this much was accepted, but Cat had yet to hear a story that made sense to her. Cat had been there when Eddard had come with the news, his face like chalk and his hands covered in blood, the words like sandpaper in his mouth. There had been no mistaking him for his older brother that day, and Cat had been surprised that she had ever thought they were similar. He had become a different man in the days after Aerys' death; still quiet, still serious but now thrust out in to the light. Robert had needed him to help handle the mess that Aerys had left, and he had seemed quite capable, but Cat had heard talk that he wanted to leave Miami. It was not hard to understand why. There was nothing but bad memories for him here now. In her more secret moments, she found herself harbouring a similar wish.

Beside her, Lysa sniffed and gripped her sisters' hand tighter for a moment before letting it go.

'We can go, if you want?' ventured Cat. It had been Lysa's idea to come to the beach, out of the house, away from all the questions, but there were other places they could go to. Lysa shrugged and wiped her eyes.

'Maybe. Where?'

Cat thought for a moment before stumbling on an answer.

'To Jon. We're always welcome there.'

Lysa shook her head sadly.

'I doubt it. Dad will have told him what happened. They'll all know. They'll all look….'

She looked as if she was about to sob again, but no sound escaped her. She looked so broken, Cat wanted to pull her close but the divide was still stretching out between them, impassable.

'No, they won't. Jon won't have said anything. He's a good man.'

She believed that, truly. Their father might have had some choice words to say about Petyr's character and Lysa's choices, but Jon could be relied upon to remain the gentleman. They could sit there for a while before going home. Lysa nodded.

'I think I'd like to leave here' she said calmly as they walked along the sand, echoing Cats' thought. 'Start again, somewhere new….Maybe up the coast….'

She had not said an exact place, but she didn't need to. Petyr had gone up the coast. Cat knew then that her sister was lost to her. Not physically, not for now, but in every other way in which a person could be lost. Suddenly, all the other little tragedies didn't seem quite so important.

_We aren't children anymore_ she thought, as they walked _._  It didn't scare her.

Beside them, the sea sang quietly and the city moved onward.

 


End file.
